Back and Forth
by kittykatloren
Summary: Assorted Booth/Brennan shots - good, bad, whatever pops out of my mind. CHAPTER 31: Hands resting on her smooth hips, Booth decided that he rather liked this kind of interruption of his personal time. ON HIATUS.
1. Shadowing Fear

This will be a series of oneshots/drabbles/post-eps/etc. Basically, a bunch of random Booth/Brennan fluff/angst/humor/etc. all in one nice little fanfic. I don't know how much I'll update, definitely not regularly, but every now and then you might find a new piece here. This is my first shot at fanfic for a TV show, and for Bones, so hopefully it will get better. The title probably won't make sense to anyone but me, but I guess I was thinking about Booth and Brennan's back-and-forth relationship and the fact that these shots will be going back and forth between length, genre, etc. Any reviews and constructive criticism, as always, will be very much appreciated!

So in this first chapter, I don't really know where they are. They're just there. Roll with it.

**Words: **2254**  
Spoilers: **A little of Brennan's childhood**  
Time: **Any time after Season 1, you can pick what you think fits best.**  
****Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Romance

**Disclaimer: **This will be the only disclaimer I put up for this fic; I don't like having to write them for every chapter. You all know the drill - for this and all later chapters, Bones and all its characters belong to Fox, not me. Any references to any things that are obviously not owned by me are, shockingly, not owned by me.

**EDITED**

* * *

She hated the dark. Hated it.

So why the hell was she forcing herself to sit out in the middle of a pitch-black night? It wasn't logical or rational and she was unbelievably edgy.

Brennan sat down on the cold bench, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering, even though the air was warm. _Stupid._ It was nearly midnight; thick trees cut off the glow of lights from the city and the stars, making her remember.

Remember loneliness, loss, fear, cold.

A slight breeze ruffled the leaves, and it covered the noise of approaching footsteps. At least, that was her excuse, when a hand rested on her shoulder and she instinctively slapped it away, caught by surprise.

"Whoa, Bones," came a familiar voice from the darkness. "It's just me."

Of course. Who else would find a way to be present and irritating the one time she wanted to be alone? Booth. But currently, it was a little difficult to fool herself into believing she didn't appreciate his presence. "Booth, what are you doing here?" she asked with a sigh, leaning back against the bench.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied cheerfully. Brennan felt him, rather than saw him, as he passed in front of her and flopped himself down on the bench. He sat close, their legs touching slightly, and slung a comforting arm carelessly around her shoulders.

"Booth," she said warningly. He didn't bother to respond, just inched closer and closer as the seconds wore on. In spite of herself, Brennan smiled.

At last he spoke, tilting his head to speak into her ear. "You were shivering when I came up." He paused, moved away a little, tilted his head back to her ear. "Want my jacket?"

"No," she replied stubbornly, pulling away. "I ask when I want something, Booth. And it's not cold."

"Ah, but you were still shivering," Booth grinned, taking his arm off her shoulders and putting both hands behind his head. Stretching casually, he glanced sideways at her. "Why are you here? It's late, it's deserted, it's dark - "

_He goes right to the point, doesn't he?_

"Why shouldn't I be here?" said Brennan - just a little defensively. "It's perfectly legal and you know I am perfectly able to take care of myself - "

"And you're still not telling me why you're here."

Looking down, Brennan wondered – like she must have done at least a million times before - how Booth could read her voice so well. Subconsciously, though, she realized with a smirk, she was doing the same thing to him – picking up tiny little cues in his voice that told her he was worried, wanted to help, and still look like an enormously charming ladies' man. While throwing a glance back up at him, Brennan tried – and probably failed, knowing herself - to imitate his no-nonsense, easy-going manner.

"No reason. Just wanted to sit out here."

Right. She was talking to an FBI agent. Saying "no reason" would be completely unacknowledged and irrelevant.

Predictably, Booth snorted and settled back on the bench. "Yeah. In the middle of the night? Come on, Bones, you can do better than that."

Brennan glared at him, but the effect was completely ruined by her reemerging smile. Even through the cloaking darkness she could see him flashing his best charm smile back – did he ever do that to anyone but her? Surely, by now, he'd realized. It didn't work.

"Don't think you can charm me into telling you."

"Oh, I try, Bones, I try," he said, grinning even wider. As he leaned forward, his features became discernable through the darkness, just inches away from hers. His eyes twinkled with amusement and he raised an eyebrow. "And you know what? It usually works."

"It does not," protested Brennan, slightly annoyed. Because he was _wrong._

"Does too."

"It does _not_!"

"Does too."

Brennan opened her mouth to reply again, then closed it - they were just falling into their usual pattern of never-ending arguments. Acting like five-year-olds.

Laughing and shaking his head, Booth leaned back, away from her. Another few silent moments passed, until Booth broke it again.

"Really. So why are you here?"

Glancing again at him, she hesitated – tell or not? Trust wasn't the problem - it was her own illogical mindset: that saying it aloud would cement it in reality, as if it wasn't already. As real as illogical things can get. At this point, Brennan wanted it to all be in her head, as much as she hated psychology. She knew from experience, though - she had to tell _someone_.

"I don't like the dark."

Booth didn't answer at first. Filled with a sudden fear that he would laugh, Brennan crossed her arms and glared defiantly at him. _Don't – you – dare_.

"You… don't like the dark?" he asked, just to clarify. "You're scared of the dark?"

"No, not scared," she contradicted instinctively. Though that was pretty much it. Backtracking, she waved her hand dismissively. "Only when there's no one else around and it's pitch-black."

Booth stared at her, scrutinizing her closely through the night, trying to make out the finer points of her features. "When you're alone?" he repeated, and she nodded. Trying to make the situation lighter, he joked, "What, do you sleep with someone every night to keep you company?"

"No," she responded scathingly. She didn't even need to _think _about how completely illogical that would be. "I leave the hall light on. Then it's not pitch-black darkness. Just darker."

"_Sure_ you do-"

"Booth-"

"Every other night?"

"My sex life is none of your business," she said icily.

Booth just grinned.

It only irritated her. She chose to ignore the sexual half of the conversation – dangerous territory when it came to Booth. "It's a rational fear. Darkness is uncertainty, a lack of control, an unknown. Technically speaking, darkness isn't even a thing, it's just a lack of light - "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," said Booth hurriedly. He squinted at her closely. "There's something else, isn't there?"

She was not going to get off easy. Brennan had known that from the moment he'd turned up. Another one of the many complications of having an FBI agent as her closest friend – he was too damn observant.

Fine. Since she gave him half of it, might as well give him it all. He always seemed to know exactly what to do, so maybe it was worth it to let the memories flood back.

"The day my parents left, Russ was out with friends and stayed out a few days. He was always a party guy."

"And a felon," interjected Booth.

Brennan glared at him. "My parents said they'd be back by lunch; I had the house to myself all morning," she began, speaking to the ground. As soon as she had mentioned her parents, she felt Booth lean in closer, his warmth comforting. See? He always knew what to do. How did someone learn things like that?

"But they didn't come back for hours. I tried to contact them, or Russ, but I couldn't get to anyone. I paced for hours by the window and never saw them. I should've stayed in the house, and kept the lights on, but - "

"But you are not the kind of person to sit and do nothing." Booth finished her sentence – a habit she didn't know if she loved or hated. It varied. He didn't press her for more, simply waited until she was ready to continue.

"I started to head down our street the way they had gone. It was nearly midnight, but I guess I didn't care. We lived in a rural neighborhood, so there were no lights from the city, and everyone's houses were dark. I kept walking down the street, in the middle of the night in December." Here Brennan stopped and tried to grin, failing. "Which was really not an intelligent thing to do."

Booth raised his eyebrows. _You think?_

Pausing – she had to get her thoughts together again – Brennan sighed. "That was when I just knew that they weren't going to come back." _And I don't "just know" anything._

Except that.

She felt like a five-year-old. Scared of the dark. "It's silly," she explained, trying to be as cool as possible. "So sometimes I come here for a while. Don't laugh."

"It's not silly," Booth spoke at last, his tone gentle. He reached out with a hand and held her chin tenderly between two fingers. In the dark she could just make his features, partially based on countless memories. "Perfectly rational fear, right? You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you don't _need_ to come out here, anyway."

Booth couldn't be _that_ dense?

"What? I just told you-"

"But you've got your nightlight, don't you?" he said, grinning and slinging and arm around her shoulders. Brennan punched him playfully in the chest. "Just teasing," he said quickly.

"Sure, sure." Brennan closed her eyes, bumping his shoulder with her head. It was all very unusually impulsive.

Booth's arm tightened reassuringly, and his eyes never left her face. "And you've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me," Booth repeated, taking his other arm and finding Brennan's hand, resting on her thigh. He laid his hand softly over hers. "Bones, you're not going to be alone again."

Did _this_ scare her as much as the dark? Brennan knew it should – but it didn't. Not with her partner. Sighing, she relaxed into the bench, letting her head rest on Booth's arm. "Thank you, Booth."

"It's nothing," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "It's what we do, right? Look out for each other. Help each other. Partners."

"Partners," she agreed quietly. _Just partners._ Slipping her hand out from under his, she curled it into a fist and held it up. Booth stared at her for a second, obviously surprised, then laughed and bumped his fist against hers.

"Hey, I didn't know you knew that."

"Zack taught me. He said it was widely recognized gesture."

"_Zack_ taught you?" Booth said incredulously, laughing even more. "That's priceless."

"Priceless?" Brennan repeated, confused.

"Come on, haven't you seen the commercial?" Booth asked. "You know, the whole 'tickets to the movie, eight dollars; popcorn and sodas, ten dollars; getting the shit scared out of you with your best friend, priceless?" Brennan didn't reply. "Nevermind."

"I'll get a TV this weekend," she said suddenly. Why not? It wasn't like she couldn't afford one.

Booth gently shook her shoulders in delighted approval. "Finally, Bones! It's about time you got up to date on American culture. You're an anthropologist, right? You should know these things."

"Exactly," she agreed, happy that he understood more than just plasmas and sports. "Will you help me pick one out?"

Booth laughed, shaking his head. "Did you think I'd let you go alone? I'm going to get you the best TV there is. High-def, surround sound, the works. And then," he concluded, sitting up straight and giving off a distinctly "male" air, "I'm going to come over to your place to watch games and old movies, and you are not going to stop me."

Okay, maybe he didn't understand much more than plasmas and sports. But still. Brennan laughed too, enjoying his company – and it was a nice thought, even with the prospect of incomprehensible sports.

It was probably time for her to get back to her apartment – it was, what, fifteen past twelve? Smoothing out her pants and thin jacket, Brennan rose. "It's probably time for me to get home," she said, squinting around: the way she had come seemed to have disappeared. Even if that was impossible.

Booth rose beside her, settling his hand in its usual place on the small of her back. "Let's go, then. I'll walk you home."

_Not a question. A statement,_ noticed Brennan, too tired to really care.

"There's no need," Brennan lied instinctively as he started to walk, gently guiding her along with him. She wasn't helpless. Ever.

"You just told me that you're afraid of the dark when you're alone," explained Booth patiently. "So I'm not going to let you be alone. I'll be here."

"Not afraid," Brennan muttered defiantly. Somehow Booth knew exactly where to go – he had to have exceptional night vision, having been a sniper, because he couldn't possibly have been around her apartment enough to know the area so well.

All the same, when they reached her apartment she had decided she should try to say something. Booth, however, beat her to it.

"Hey, thanks, Bones," he said quietly, looking right at her with warm, dark eyes.

"For what?" she asked, smiling very cautiously. "You helped me, Booth."

"Thanks for telling me," he explained. His mouth curved into a tiny charm smile. "It means a lot, you know."

"You've told me things," she said, with a casual shrug. "And I trust you. We're even."

Booth shook his head, laughing, and turned to leave, glancing just once over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Bones."


	2. Irresistable

Just popped into my head while re-watching old Bones episodes. This is just something I imagined would've been really funny if it had happened, and since it'd take about two seconds to write, here's a nice little almost-double-drabble. Thanks so much for the positive reviews on my last chapter!**  
**

**Words: **214**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **During The Skull in the Desert**  
Genre:** Humor

**EDITED**

* * *

"I can stand here, and close my eyes, eat my doughnut. It's the best I can do."

Brennan and Angela stared at Booth, incredulous, then glanced at each other. Angela raised an eyebrow and Brennan smiled, understanding her friend's unspoken message. For once. Watching her ever-chivalrous partner closely, Brennan reached over and tweaked the zipper on her suitcase, while Angela grabbed a few pieces of Brennan's clothes and rustled them very convincingly. Brennan shifted to make the springs on the bed squeak - keeping her eyes on Booth.

What _kind_ of guy could resist _that_? _Gay ones._

Sure enough, Brennan saw Booth's fingers shift just the slightest amount away from his eyes. Just the slightest.

And there was no way was he going to get away with that: it was too late to cover the mistake. The damage was done.

Brennan and Angela grinned mischievously, raised their arms simultaneously, and pointed straight to the door. "_Out_."

"Give me a break," the man muttered, but he headed out the door all the same. "It's got to be a hundred degrees out there…."

The door slammed and the two women grinned widely at each other.

"He just can't keep his eyes off you, sweetie," said Angela, looking at Brennan pointedly.

Brennan threw a pillow at her.


	3. Scraps

Here's another one. I hope it's not too similar to the first oneshot, but I had fun writing it, and that's all this is about. It would probably work better as a scene in a show, so it may read a little awkwardly... I think I'm destined to be a screenwriter. But enjoy! And thank you all so much for the reviews, it's really great and I really appreciate them all.

**Words: **2332**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **Season 2 - 3**  
Genre: **Romance/Family

**EDITED**

* * *

Photos and paper littered a small coffee table, with a pair of scissors and a roll of tape lying on top of the entire mess. On one corner sat a giant box, full of various giant albums. The floor, too, was covered in scraps and paper and dropped photographs.

A project this messy was definitely not her thing.

Picking up an old, faded picture, Brennan grinned at the unhappy toddler wrapped in a bundle of pink blankets, screaming her little head off in the arms of a bewildered four-year-old. In the next picture, the rosy bundle was now a pink-frilled toddler wearing the most hideous dress imaginable – ugly and impractical. Apparently, her toddler-self was having trouble walking, as she was sitting dejectedly on the ground by her mother's feet.

Every picture gave a glimpse of the life she'd forgotten.

The next photo, discovered and extracted from between two of her couch cushions, was of herself and Russ – her brother was holding her little hand and waving in front of a house somewhere. Flipping it over, Brennan paused as she read a scribbled _Kyle and Joy, 1976_.

She stared at it for nearly a minute – then picked up her pen and deliberately crossed out the words. She slipped into the album, writing below it, _Russ and Temperance, 1976._

_Why am I even doing this?_ she thought crossly. All it did was bring back memories that were much, much easier to forget. But she couldn't deny that she hated old, loose photos just floating around, completely unorganized. At least all the other pictures she had – which, admittedly, weren't many – were neatly organized in albums. Albums that Angela forced her to make, so she could remember the non-death-related parts of places like Rwanda and Guatemala – but that was beside the point.

A sudden, loud knock on the door nearly made her jump out of her seat. Hastily shoving the album and pictures slightly out of sight, Brennan hurried to the door and glanced cautiously through the eyehole.

_Finally._

It was Booth, standing with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a Jeffersonian case file. He smiled broadly up at the peephole and waved the case file, just as Brennan opened the door and stood to the side to allow him in.

"Hey, Bones, how's it going?" Booth asked as he strode into her apartment, heading straight towards her living room. He flopped down on her couch, holding up the file. "Brought you this, like you asked."

"Thanks," Brennan replied, taking the file. Something more worthwhile to do, at last. Even though it was a weekend, Brennan still wanted to do whatever she could to help, and had asked Booth to get her a file to look at while she was banned from the lab. Both Cam and Angela had demanded that she take time off, and it had taken all of her persuading skills just to get Booth to bring her a limbo file. It had not been easy in any way - she was going to have to buy him dinner for a week and at least try his apple pie.

"What've you been working on here?"

Glancing up, Brennan saw Booth looking at the scissors, photo scraps, and the box of old photographs and albums on her coffee table. He reached out to the shiny white of an upside-down photo, a cocky grin of realization forming on his face.

_Oh, no._

Brennan nearly dropped the case file on the other side of the coffee table as she tried to snatch the pictures away from him. Stupid man. "It's nothing. I've just been bored, without being able to go to the lab at all."

"Time off is good for you," said Booth. He flipped the picture deftly and grinned even wider. "This is a nice picture of you, Bones."

Brennan crossed her arms and glared. Sitting down beside him, she grabbed the picture in question - it was her when she was about thirteen, with hair was blowing all around by a strong wind, dirt smudging her face and clothes. With no idea where it was taken, all Brennan could see about it was that it looked like a national park, full of large boulders, scrubby grass, and dust. A lotof dust.

"Hey," said Booth, frowning and attempting to grab it back like a little kid with its candy taken away. "Come on, why won't you let me see it? You're scrapbooking, aren't you?"

"No. I'm just looking through pictures. People do that sometimes, Booth - "

"Yeah, but not you," said Booth, while Brennan let out a snort of disbelief at his logic. "Hey. You've got the scissors, the tape, and giant albums over there. I can draw conclusions from that."

Brennan sighed. She'd had no chance of hiding her project from Booth the moment he'd entered – he was FBI, and thus noticed _everything. _

Leaning over him, she lifted the first photo album, along with a few loose pictures. "I haven't been _scrapbooking_," she explained testily. She _hated_ that word. "I just noticed I had all these pictures simply lying in a box. It didn't make sense to leave them loose and unorganized, so I decided to put them in a photo album, organized by date when possible."

"Brilliant," said Booth, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. If he kept that up, they were probably going to pop out of his head.

He took the album from her and opened it, flipping through the first few pages of baby pictures – with a teasing grin firmly in place - until he got to the place where Brennan had stopped. He laughed at her cheerful kindergarten self, and Brennan crossed her arms and glared at him. All kindergartners looked silly, right? Booth should know; he was raising one.

"What?" Booth defended himself, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. "You're cute. It's a good thing."

"Thanks for the compliment," she replied dryly, but her lips curved in a smile. She picked up another loose photo, flipping it over and finding no date, only the words _Chicago Natural History Museum_. But the tiny version of herself in the picture looked about the same age as the kindergarten Temperance, so she slid the photo into the next slot and wrote _Me and Mom, Chicago Natural History Museum_. Simple enough.

"Wow," commented Booth, watching her add the picture. "You were going to museums when you were four? I was going to playgrounds, football games-"

"I was probably five," she corrected, "and I've always found museums much more interesting than watching a bunch of people throw a ball and run into each other - "

"I'm sure you were thinking that as a five-year-old. Face it, Bones, you were destined to become a squint from the day you were born."

"You know, the idea of predestination is an outdated, archaic belief that stemmed from a lack of knowledge about - "

Again Booth held up his hands in a quick peace-making gesture. "Okay, okay, I get it. You don't believe it. But that still doesn't make it any less true."

Nothing was simple with Booth around.

"What? That makes no sense."

"You know what? Let's drop it. Let me help you with this." Booth grabbed another photo, ignoring Brennan's immediate attempts to snatch it from his hands. Laughing, he pointed at the picture. "Hey, look at you, Bones. You're very photogenic."

"I am perfectly capable of doing this on my own," she insisted, glancing at the picture he held. She raised an eyebrow when she saw it. "What do you mean, photogenic? That's a high school yearbook picture. Everyone looks bad."

"Not you. You were pretty in high school, Bones."

"I was the nerd in high school. I was the person who didn't socialize well and spent all her time studying - "

"Doesn't mean you weren't pretty," Booth said lightly.

Was it his _instinct_ to try to charm and flirt at every possible opportunity?

Brennan leaned forward on her elbows, snatching the picture and glaring at him sidelong. "I was the science nerd, Booth, not the prom queen."

"You still are," he replied. Brennan frowned at him, confused.

"What?"

"I mean," he clarified, raising an eyebrow and smiling. "That you're still a science nerd. And you're still… very pretty."

Usually, Brennan hated those kind of compliments. Usually. But from Booth, it didn't exactly spark a fresh surge of annoyance and instinctual skepticism. It was still, however, an odd compliment to receive from a partner – overly subjective.

"Thank you," she said. It followed logically.

Booth reached behind her to grab another album from the box, his arm brushing lightly across her shoulders. He opened the album to a random page in the middle. "Where's this?"

"Guatemala," answered Brennan. All the pictures were of the small village she had stayed in, showing the tiny huts that had no running water or electricity. But what was more striking were the people. Every one of them was stick-thin and had lost family members or friends, which was why she was there – to identify bodies - but they had still managed to smile when they saw the camera. "Angela insisted that I take pictures that didn't have anything to do with bones. Which was a little hard for me."

"Nah, you did great," Booth said, his hand lingering on a picture of Brennan, holding a young girl who could only have been five years old and was missing her left arm. Despite that, the girl was smiling as if she could never be happier.

_Maria. Lost her mother._

What was the point of saving and looking through all these photos?

"That's Rwanda," explained Brennan, as Booth turned the page to reveal pictures of grassy hills. "No one spoke any English there, and I couldn't speak their language either, so it was tough navigating with a translator."

"You do good in this world, Bones," said Booth, pointing to a picture of Brennan embracing a woman whose body was so thin her arms and legs looked like sticks. Two very young children, just as thin as their mother, clung to her skirt, staring at the camera with wide, curious eyes.

Photo after photo, they sat together, Brennan doing all the explaining and talking and Booth turning pages persistently. She had to hand it to him, he was at least pretending like he wasn't bored out of his mind.

"What's this?" Booth waved a tan album, tossed it to his other hand, and flipped it open.

Good question.

"This isn't mine," Brennan said, picking it up. "I've never seen it before."

"What? How can you never have seen it? It's in your box, Bones." Booth tried to take it back, but Brennan held it out of his reach and opened it to the first page. A note fell out onto her lap, and, frowning, she picked it up to read it. Booth leaned in close to her, reading the note as well.

With a sudden feeling of trepidation, Brennan recognized the handwriting. Smooth, curvy, perfect letters with a distinctive flair could mean only one thing – an artist.

_Bren, _

_This is something I've been working on for the past few months. With Zack's help. See, there's all these great moments we have sometimes, and I always wished I could capture them in my art. Don't laugh and tell me it's cliché. So I employed Zack to help me take pictures when everyone wasn't looking, and I took some myself too. And now, I put them all in here, and you will eventually find this, and you will call me when you do. This is for you, sweetie. And Booth, because he's probably there anyway. _

_Angela _

"How did she know I'd be here?" Booth asked, taking the note from Brennan and squinting at it. "No way. Lucky guess."

"I've learned not to question her."

Almost all the pictures were somewhere in the Jeffersonian lab, but a few were at the diner or somewhere else. Every single scene, though, no matter how strange each person would look to an outsider, was very familiar. Hodgins and Zack stared with identical wide-eyed, eager expressions at what appeared to be an empty box, probably waiting for some sort of chemical reaction or explosion, while Cam stood behind them looking disbelieving. Angela crossed her arms and looked across the lab platform with an eyebrow raised, a very impish smile on her face, as Booth and Brennan argued – heatedly - about something.

Booth laughed, pointing to the picture. "Wow. When was that? It looks pretty intense to not remember."

"I have no idea," Brennan smiled, shaking her head. "I think we do that too often."

"What? Forget things?"

"No. We argue too much to remember each conversation."

"We don't argue. We bicker."

"Right."

More commonplace, every-day scenes: her slapping Booth's hands away from the exam table, Angela flirting openly, Cam looking resigned as Zack said something amusing, or else conspired with Hodgins and blew something up. Nothing – except the occasional decomposing skeleton in the corner of a frame – was depressing or painful to remember.

"That was actually very well done," said Brennan as she closed the album.

Booth snorted. "Yeah, especially the part where she managed to get embarrassing pictures of every single one of us. She's like a really, really annoying little sister."

"I appreciate her effort."

"Just _look_ at that picture on the third page. I look like I'm about to give birth."

"You couldn't - "

"I know that, thanks. Just making a description."

Brennan laughed. "Friends and family forgive and forget, right?"

"Forgive, maybe; forget, never," muttered Booth.

"Come on." Brennan nudged him and smirked. "Be a nice big brother."

"I'll try."

A comfortable silence fell, with warm summer sun shining through the window and filling the room. Much more comfortable than the constantly cold lab or hard diner chairs.

"Thanks for being part of my family, Booth."

He smiled broadly, obviously pleased. "Thanks, Bones."


	4. Lovedrunk

Thank you reviewers, and all the people who have favorited or alerted this story, I love to know people are reading. I've been getting a lot of hits but not that many reviews, so remember... they feed my soul! Lol, enjoy this random shot. It was fun to write.

**Words:** 839**  
Spoilers:** None**  
Time: **After Santa in the Slush**  
Genre: **Romance/Humor

**EDITED**

* * *

Booth stared down at the half-empty bottle, twirling the alcohol aimlessly. Another sip? Another bottle? Closing his eyes, he raised the bottle to his lips again, ignoring the little, annoying voice in the back of his head that told him this was a very bad idea. Late at night, alone, and exhausted, he needed his alcohol, right?

A soft, familiar hand suddenly closed around his, gently pulling the bottle down. Booth opened his eyes, seeing his smirking partner sitting across from and prying his fingers off the bottle. He needed his alcohol – or his Bones.

Booth frowned. "What're you doing here at this hour?"

"I could ask the same of you," she replied lightly, taking a sip from the bottle, then turning and dropping it in the trash. Her eyes twinkled.

"Hey," said Booth, annoyed. "I wasn't done with that."

"You don't have a ride home, Booth, you shouldn't be drinking."

"I do now," he said, nodding towards her. "You're not drunk. Neither am I, by the way."

"How do you know I'm not drunk?" Brennan said, a smile curving the corner of her lips.

"Three reasons," stated Booth confidently. Brennan raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. "One. I've seen you drunk. By the way, did you have a ride then, when we were taking down all the shots together?"

"Yes. Angela. Did you?"

"Number two," he started loudly. Ignoring her question. "If you were drunk, you wouldn't have let yourself drive over here from the lab at midnight by yourself."

Brennan nodded, looking very bemused. "True. Good reason."

"And thirdly," he finished, leaning forward towards her and grinning teasingly. This was incredibly entertaining. "If you were drunk, you'd lose your sense of inhibition, and you would kiss me."

She was completely silent for a moment, her face lit up with suppressed laughter. "I'd kiss you only if I lost all my inhibitions?"

"Yeah," he said casually, placing his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands so he could keep his face close to hers. No denying it; he liked it when she looked happy like that. "See, you're scared of me, so-"

"I am not _scared_ of you," Brennan replied, incredulous. "I kissed you before."

"Only because we were blackmailed so you could spend Christmas with your family."

"Still. _I_ kissed _you_. You were the terrified one."

"Those are details," Booth muttered, keeping his eyes on her. Either way, it wasn't like he could really be irritated with her anyway – Bones smiling and talking about kissing him? Didn't get any better. "You're still scared of me."

Brennan stared back at him, unmoving, except for the slight twitch of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. In a split second she reached up and took the bait, grabbing Booth's tie – vibrant as always, of course - and pulling him towards her. She pressed her lips to his, flicking her tongue out incredibly teasingly. _Not fair._ Sliding his hands up to her hair, Booth grinned as their lips moved smoothly together, feeling the kiss last much longer than five stupid "steamboats."

Too soon Brennan pulled her lips away, but she left one hand fisted around his tie, keeping him close, and Booth kept his hands tangled in her soft hair. Their breaths mingled in the air between them. With a smirk, Booth noticed Brennan swiping her tongue across her lips, and he smiled even wider. The one thing better than seeing Bones smiling and talking about kissing him? Actually kissing her. She was good. And better yet, there was no audience composed of puckish prosecution lawyers.

"Sure you don't want the rest of that beer, Bones? You're drunk, after all."

"I am not drunk," she insisted, blowing a short breath towards his face that was just barely tinted with alcohol. "I just proved that I am completely and totally unafraid of you." A flat, definitive statement.

_Really, now?_

"Fine," Booth accepted, smirking. No need to argue – hell, he had her face inches away from his and her breath tingling across his cheek. Something to enjoy while it lasted. Brennan stared at him, skeptical, but obviously pleased.

"What? That's it? I win?"

"Sure. You kissed me, after all, without being drunk or blackmailed."

She didn't drop her gaze, her mouth open only slightly. Then she leaned in to rest their foreheads together, smiling. "Wasn't that almost blackmail?"

"No, and you fell for it either way," said Booth lightly. Their eyes met, with their noses barely touching and Brennan's hand still grasping his tie. A moment of silence hung in the air between them, and then at the same time, they both started laughing.

_Is this really happening? Must be drunk after all. _

"I'll get you back for this, Booth."

"I look forward to it."

"You are a bad man."

"You have no idea."

"Shut up."

On impulse Booth pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her lips, still laughing. With her. "I do what I have to do, Bones. I do what I have to."


	5. Close to the Edge

Just a slightly reflective/sad fic that popped into my mind and wouldn't leave me alone. I think I'm really hooked on their pasts; I love writing about that, and I hope it's not getting old. Thanks again to those who reviewed, I really love you guys! Experimenting with a new style and POV.**  
**

**Words: **554**  
Spoilers: **Some episodes in Season 1 and 2**  
Time: Future  
Genre: **Romance/Hurt/Comfort

**EDITED**

* * *

Some nights I hear you slide out of bed and silently leave the room, leaving me alone under the sheets and blankets that can never replace your warmth. The first time you left I hadn't noticed; I had been too soundly asleep. But all the other times, I had felt your arms slip off from around me as you got out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans, and left the room.

Making a decision, I push the sheets down and drop my feet to the cold, unforgiving floor. I follow you soundlessly out the bedroom door, pulling on a bathrobe and rubbing my arms as I go. It's a normal night, with just the occasional car speeding past, and a few lights glimmering on neighboring buildings and far in the distance. Quiet, still air.

I find you on the balcony, staring down at the road below and grasping the cold metal railing. With a sigh, I lean against the doorframe and watch him carefully.

I don't know what you're thinking about. Epps, the army, even Parker?

It takes me a moment. As I watch you, standing so close, but lost in your mind. I realize I don't need to know to understand.

Bracing myself against the cool wind, I take a few steps closer to you and lay my hand on your tight fingers. You glance down at it, breathing hard, and turn your hand to link our fingers together. Your hand is as cold as the metal.

"I can't lose you."

Surprised, I stare at you. You always think about me.

You always do things for me – making sure you have my coffee ready in the morning, or taking me out to lunch after I've worked for hours on end; it doesn't matter. Why do you spend any more time with just me on your mind?

A single tear falls down your cheek. Am I that important?

"I'm not going anywhere," I reply, softly. What else can I say?

"I know." You pause, squeezing my hand. "But I can't help remember when you were taken from me. Things we couldn't control. Mistakes I made that nearly got you killed."

Kenton and the gravedigger. Psychotic murderers. Like you could have controlled them in the first place, I want to say. But don't you see? More vividly, I remember when you were gone. When you were hurt. When you were only my partner.

"I don't want to lose you either," I murmur, leaning on your arm. "But we can't control everything. There's no way to know what'll happen in a hour; in a week."

"I know."

I stay silent. I know the facts; it's impossible to tell the future. But words can't comfort either of us, and I don't know what can.

"We have now," you murmur, putting one arm around me and letting my head fall onto your chest. I smile, wondering how I had gone from comforter to comforted in just a few minutes. "Right?"

"Of course, I say, and close my eyes. "It's always the present. The past and the future are just – just relative concepts."

Looking up at the stars, you sigh. Your mouth curls into an unwilling, bittersweet smile. "Yeah. That's all it is."

I wonder, sometimes, how close we can get to the edge before we fall.


	6. Hot

Thank you reviewers! I love you guys. So much. I'll do my best to send you all chocolates! Here's another drabble. I imagined this happening in the episode - which is one of the best episodes of all time - so here it is.

**Words: **379**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **During Woman in the Sand**  
Genre: **Humor

**EDITED**

* * *

"That's hot." _Really hot._

"Hot? Wait a minute – what's hot?"

"Ah - nothing. Vegas – Vegas is hot; it's very hot here."

Brennan shifted smoothly, attempting to get away from Booth's strong hands. He grinned.

She was not getting away so easily dressed like that. Booth kept his hands on her back and leaned forward like he was going to kiss her on the cheek, but instead kissed the air. And he made sure, of course, that the phone picked up the noise.

"Bren? What was _that_?" Angela's unnaturally excited voice.

"Nothing," Brennan repeated more forcefully. She turned around to glare fiercely at Booth, who grinned his typical charm smile and blew her another kiss.

Which didn't irritate her at all.

"_Booth_-"

"Booth?" interrupted Angela, perfectly curious. "So Booth is there?"

"No," said Brennan quickly. Too quickly. "No, we're just – I mean-"

Booth reached behind her and tweaked the slinky dress's zipper again, and before Brennan could say anything he put his other hand firmly over her mouth. Risking severe personal injury, he knew – she was wearing stilettos – but it was worth it. Brennan huffed angrily and held the phone out about three feet away from her face.

Screw info on the case – this was far more fun. Not that the distancing method was effective, anyway. Angela seemed to interpret the near-silence differently, and artist's excited voice was definitely still audible.

"You know, I'm going to hang up now so you can continue what you're doing without interruption, okay?" The phone beeped off, and Booth immediately moved his hand, trying very hard not to laugh - Brennan looked murderous.

And still too hot for her own good.

"Booth!" she said fiercely, throwing the phone onto the bed and putting her hands on her hips. "That was _not funny_ – Angela is going to be all over me when we get back and I don't think Cam will be too happy with you either, you know - "

"We'll worry about that later, then," Booth said cheerfully, putting an arm around Brennan's shoulders and leading her towards the door. "We've got a murderer to catch, Bones. Out we go."

_Complete success._ Booth grinned and kept his arm tight around his partner - he intended to take full advantage of this undercover plan.


	7. Tampon Test

Lots of hits, so I know people are reading. Don't be afraid to leave a review, especially if it's a criticism, anything I could do to improve would be great! Here's just another random oneshot, with fun from Angela. Starts out serious, but gets sillier, mostly dialogue. And I want to point out a random inconsistency: Brennan rocked at acting in Vegas in The _Woman in the Sand_, but sucked in _The Knight on the Grid._ Wonder why? Maybe she didn't have to act as hard when she was "pretending" to be in love with Booth. -dreams-

**Words: **1410**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **During or after Season 3**  
Genre: **Romance/Humor

**EDITED**

* * *

"You're in love with him, Bren. And he's in love with you."

Brennan stared blankly at Angela. Words like that didn't compute well. "_What?"_

"Face it. Look at the facts, that's what you do best." Angela stretched out on Brennan's couch, perfectly at ease. It was annoying how calm she was; like she already knew everything. She probably did, though.

"You've told me over and over again that love is something that can't be measured with facts," replied Brennan slowly.

"You can't measure it. But you can see that it's there. Look at me and Hodgins."

Brennan snorted. "If love is what you and Hodgins have, Ange, I am definitely not in love with Booth. Booth and I are nothing like you and Hodgins."

"You're not that different," protested Angela. "You work together, you - "

"We are not running off to have sex in the supply closets."

"Not yet - "

"Angela!"

"Fine, fine." Angela paused, grinned superiorly again. "But you're still in love with him."

What was it with her? She was practically a newlywed – maybe it was that. Newlyweds always had the irritating habit of pairing off everyone around them. Unfortunately, the artist had been attempting this since the first day Brennan had met Booth. So that killed the newlywed theory. And the fact that Angela was still trying after two years killed the just-wanting-to-see-two-hot-people-sleep-together-and-be-awkward-afterward theory.

"How can you say that? You just said - "

"Love isn't just one thing. Love can be anything." Angela leaned forward, tilting her head as she studied her friend. "Part of you is scared to love because you don't know what it feels like. You know science and reason. But as much as you argue against it, love isn't just a release of chemicals in your brain. That's just attraction and lust. Which, I must say, there is plenty of - "

"_Angela_ - "

Angela held up a hand before she could get any more words out. "Brennan, just go with me here. You're scared to love because you don't understand it. That's a part of the reason, sure. But the main reason? You're scared you'll get hurt again."

Sometimes Brennan loved her friend to death for her sharp perceptions, but it was times like these when she wished Angela wasn't quite so brilliant when it came to the things Brennan was absolutely clueless on.

"That's ridiculous," Brennan said flatly.

"It's not, and you know it."

A long moment passed, stretching out as Brennan tried to sort through her thoughts – failing as expected. This wasn't her strength. Finally, since Angela didn't break the silence for once, she couldn't take it any longer.

"Fine," she said, a little shortly. "I have reason to be. My parents left. My brother left. My father and my brother left again. Even Sully left. Everyone leaves. The chances are so much higher."

"That's all true," conceded Angela. "But think about who we're talking about _now_. Would Booth ever leave you?"

"I work with him. We're partners. It's hardly - "

"Brennan." Angela met her eyes and didn't look away. "Even right now. Would Booth ever leave you?"

Brennan opened her mouth to object again, but then stopped midway through. So Booth had risked his life, his job, all the things so important to him for her over and over again – what did that mean? He would stop whatever he was doing to come when she needed him, for no matter what reason. She knew that because she had seen it.

And she trusted him.

But at the same time, she couldn't completely let herself go. She didn't work that way. "I don't know," she said. "I can't know."

"You can't know until you try," responded Angela. "You have to try. Take a risk. Think about it – you _know_ him. It wouldn't even be much of a risk after all. How much could change?"

"I took a risk with Sully. Look how that turned out."

"Yeah, and who was there to help you? Booth. He knows you better than anyone. Maybe even better than me."

"Ange, I can't," Brennan said helplessly. She couldn't describe_ why_ - everything Angela said was true, after all – but still. She couldn't exactly make herself accept it either.

Angela sighed, resigned, and stood from the couch. "Just think about it, okay?" She turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she stopped suddenly and turned back around, a familiar, mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly, Brennan was struck by a strong feeling of trepidation.

"What, Angela?"

"What's the date?"

"It's the fifth. Why?"

"Good," she said cheerfully. "It'll be less of a hassle when it's a lie."

"What are you talking about?" Knowing Angela, this could not be good.

"You need a test, right?" Angela said seriously. "Proof that nothing could ever make him leave you. Not that you don't have enough already, but - "

"There's no test to determine the future, you know that - "

"This is pretty damn close," insisted Angela. "Trust me. I know what I'm talking about here."

Brennan sighed. Might as well hear the idea, no matter how ridiculous it was, right? Angela did not let go of ideas very easily. "What is it?"

Angela grinned smugly, a thoroughly annoying expression. "You're on a long drive. When you pass by a convenience store, you ask him to buy you a box of tampons. If he does it, he's a keeper. If not, leave while you're ahead."

Brennan paused, mouth hanging open. Was she even _serious_? "That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard."

"It works, sweetie."

"I am not doing that."

"Try it."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

* * *

She couldn't help it. She had been thinking about Angela's proposal all week.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stop here?" Brennan pointed out the window at the nearby convenience store.

Booth frowned, but he pulled up into the parking lot nevertheless. Dependable like always. "What is it? Need something?"

How the hell was she going to play this out realistically? Brennan shifted slightly. "Do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Depends on what it is," he replied in a careful tone.

"Could you get me a box of tampons?"

Booth – the man who had been in the army, taken down armed murderers, and raised a five-year-old son - froze for a second, staring at her. He shook his head incredulously, looking out the windshield. "Wow, Bones. You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I'm a woman, Booth," she stated bluntly. "It's not unusual - "

"I know, I know, you don't need to explain it," he said hurriedly, holding up a hand and looking just the slightest bit unnerved. A moment of silence passed as Brennan crossed her arms and legs and waited for Booth to make a decision. Of course he'd do it.

"Are you going to or not?"

"Fine," he muttered, irritated. He turned back, pointing his finger at her as he opened the door. "You owe me for this."

"I'll buy you breakfast all next week," Brennan promised.

But just as he was about to leave, he paused. "Wait a minute," he said slowly, smirking. "You don't actually need them."

"What?" There was no way – no _way_ - gut sense or not, Booth was not _that_ good.

"It's only the thirteenth. You don't need them."

"Booth, how could you possibly know - "

"Once a month, for a couple of days, you always ask for coffee with extra cream and sugar instead of your usual black," Booth explained triumphantly, crossing his arms and looking smug. "All day you can't concentrate as easily, you're more irritable, and you snap at people. And then at the end of the day you sit curled at your desk staring at your computer without doing anything. At all."

Brennan gaped, speechless. How did he notice things like that? That was not fair. Not fair at all.

Booth grinned broadly, starting the car and heading back on their way. "I win, Bones," he teased.

"Fine," Brennan conceded. Sometimes it felt like Booth knew her better than she knew herself.

"Why did you ask me that, anyway?" asked Booth, glancing between her and the road.

"Ask Angela," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"You're just intent on causing me discomfort."

"Must be it."

"You can be really difficult sometimes, you know?"

"I've been told."

A successful test, Brennan decided. Even though she didn't end up with a box of tampons.


	8. What You Need

Thank you again reviewers and lurkers alike! Sorry this one took a while. Very busy and too ridiculously excited about all the new upcoming episodes to think! Opinions on _Man in the Mud_? I thought it was a decent episode, but not a great restarter for the season. Very cute clay-throwing moment, but I wished there had been more sweetness between them at the end. Then again, poor little Sweets, I'm in love with the guy now.

Anyway, here you go, another oneshot. Kinda similar to the first one, but this is a post-ep for Aliens in a Spaceship. I know, I know, EXTREMELY overdone, but hey. I deserve my shot at it too. Besides, it's an important episode in my theories as to how their relationship works. They became friends more than partners in _Man in the Fallout Shelter_. Booth subconsciously fell in love with her in _Two Bodies in the Lab_. Brennan subconsciously fell in love with him in _Woman in Limbo_. Booth realized he was in love with her in this episode, _Aliens in a Spaceship_, and our dear Dr. Brennan might no longer be in denial, because of _Wannabe in the Weeds/Pain in the Heart_. Anyone agree?

**Words: **1568**  
Spoilers: **_Aliens in a Spaceship_**  
Time: **During _Aliens in a Spaceship_ - after she's rescued and before they go to the church.**  
Genre: **Hurt/Comfort

**EDITED**

* * *

Brennan gripped the smooth sheets of her bed, cool under hot fingers. Closing her eyes, breathing deeply… Predictably, none of it worked. Darkness still surrounded her, cold metal still closed in on her, the air was still thin and dusty. And she was back inside the silent car with there was no way out, no way the ransom could be paid, no way they could be found -

She snapped her eyes open, feeling her damp hair on her shoulders. Exhaling slowly, she concentrated fully on her breathing, temporarily suppressing all other thoughts. _In. Out. _

There was no way she'd be able to sleep now. Not a chance. With a sigh, Brennan shivered and slid from her bed, hesitating outside her bedroom door. A barely audible rustling came from her living room – it looked like she wasn't the only one who couldn't get any rest. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of her room and down the hallway until she was right outside the other room, pausing in the doorframe.

"Booth?" she called out tentatively. Was he asleep? It was bad enough that she had let Booth sleep on her couch in the first place – she didn't want to wake him if he had somehow managed to get to sleep.

But she needn't have worried. Booth immediately sat up on his elbows, titling his head back so he could see her. His hair was mussed from constant tossing and turning, and he grinned tiredly. It was a bit forced too.

"Yeah?"

Brennan couldn't help a smile, and she stepped out from the doorway, heading towards the couch. "I can't sleep." _Obviously._

"Me neither," replied Booth, shifting so there was room for her on the couch. Spare sheets and pillows fell unceremoniously to the ground. He patted the seat next to him. "Have a seat."

She did, thinking about nothing. Getting kidnapped? No. Getting rescued? No. Hodgins? No, he was safe. Safe with Angela.

"Nice pajamas."

Like she had paid attention to what she had put on after getting out of the shower. In a black camisole and plaid pajama pants, she was exhausted and a complete mess. Brennan glanced up at him, confused. "What?"

"It's a compliment, Bones. It's supposed to make you feel better."

"Oh."

"And now you're supposed to say thank you."

_I know that._ She tried to glare at him, but ended up smiling anyway. "Thank you, Booth."

"Not a problem," he said as he leaned back into the couch. He glanced sidelong at her, while Brennan turned away and began another staring contest with the carpet.

_Stupid. It can't stare back._

Moving his arm, Booth settled it on her back and rubbed her shoulder gently with his thumb. "You okay?"

Damn. It was time to talk. _Lie?_ "Yes."

"No, you're not. But you will be."

And of course, he saw right through her. Another silence fell. Brennan shifted through the thoughts swirling in her mind, wondering what she should say: she didn't want sympathy from anyone - but she needed _something_. Like what?

"What did you think about down there?" Booth asked, his voice soft. Cautious. Making sure she was ready.

Booth always knew how to get to the point. It must have come from years of interrogating people. _I'm not being interrogated,_ Brennan thought contemptuously. It was still hard as hell, though.

"How help Hodgins, at the beginning," Brennan answered. "When I knew he was alright, we thought about ways to get out; ways to conserve oxygen."

She knew perfectly well that wasn't the type of answer Booth was looking for; not a play-by-play, hour-by-hour sequence of events. She didn't make him ask the question again.

"I didn't really think much until the end. Hodgins handed me a page from my book and asked me – asked me if there was anyone I wanted to say goodbye to."

"Did you write anything?" Booth's hand rubbed her sore shoulders.

Somehow, the words started to come more easily – his presence was oddly comforting. _Just say it._ "At first I didn't want to. I didn't want to accept that there might not be anything we could do to get ourselves out. But then I figured there was nothing to lose."

"What did you write?"

She could remember. She could remember the exact feel of the pen in her sore hands and the clean whiteness of the paper. Everything was vivid, and whether that was good or bad, she didn't know – but at least that meant she knew where the paper was. Brennan stood up and turned away, towards her bedroom – this would be easier than talking, and it would still have the same effect. It would get out everything she needed to get out. _Do it._

"Bones, wait, I-"

Brennan ignored him.

She had a kind of detached feeling as she sorted through the pile of hastily discarded, dusty clothes in the corner of her bedroom. It was nice, really; to not be feeling anything. Breathing in deeply brought the sandy scent of the car back to her mind – so she stopped, holding her breath until she found the right pocket with the tiny, folded-up slip of paper inside. Brennan closed he fingers over the fragile page. Page one hundred and fifty of her novel.

_Booth, _

_I don't know what is the right thing to say here. Normally it'd be something I'd ask you about. I don't know what you'd want to hear._

_Just don't blame yourself for this. I know you'll try to. You'll think it was your fault. There's nothing you could have done. Remember, I know you too well, Booth. You did everything possible, you broke all the rules, because that's just who you are. You're the one who would do anything to protect someone, even a complete stranger. So promise me that you'll at least try. That's all I'm asking. You can do that, right?_

_I don't believe in God and Heaven like you. I never have. But you do – so if you believe I'm good enough to make it in, then that's all the better, right? Believe for me. If that's what you want to do._

_Thank you for being there, Booth. As my partner and friend. I don't really know what else to say._

_Just catch him, all right?_

_Brennan _

It wasn't too incriminating. What was there to lose at this point?

"Here." Back on the couch, Brennan held the letter out, refolded into a neat square.

Back next to him. Silently, Booth took the little piece of paper from, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. But he didn't open it.

Brennan stared at him, confused. "I wrote to you. You can read it if you want." Why not?

"You wrote to me?" asked Booth, his voice unreadable.

"It doesn't say much. Just the panicked ramblings of someone terrified and dying."

Booth winced visibly. "Don't say that."

There was a long pause. The air stood tense and still.

"Sorry," murmured Brennan. What was he thinking about, anyway? Sighing, Brennan let herself give in to her exhaustion a little bit – she leaned over, resting her head on Booth's shoulder. It didn't really matter what he was thinking about, really. They'd both been living in their own personal hells for the last twelve hours. So what if they were different?

"That's okay," Booth said, letting out a deep breath. He glanced sideways at her, raised his eyebrows, and tried to laugh. "You know, you're really not very good at apologizing."

Brennan smiled tiredly. "I know." Was he stalling?

"I still shouldn't have let him get you like that, Bones. I should've been able to get that damned ransom in time, so you and Hodgins didn't have to blow yourselves up - "

No. He was pounding himself with his characteristic, righteous sense of self-guilt. Men were stupid.

"Booth," Brennan interrupted firmly.

Booth paused, flipping the letter over a few times in his hands. Then he shook his head and tossed it onto the coffee table. "No. Nope, can't do it."

"What?"

"I don't need to read it."

About to open her mouth to speak again, Brennan met his eyes and gave up. A clear message passed between them – _it's over._

On impulse, Brennan leaned up, pressed her lips gently to his cheek, and sat back down by his side with no intention of moving. It was comfortable.

"You're not going back to bed?"

"No."

"Any reason why?"

"Yes."

"Should I bother asking?"

"No."

Booth sighed and gave up. Out of habit, he rested his arm around Brennan's shoulders, holding her close. Because he had an excuse. She had almost died – so if he felt like it, he could hug her. Brennan's eyes were closed and somehow – amazingly – she was already starting to drift off. How could she manage that? _Because it's over, that's why._

He knew that. But a small, distinct, and very traitorous voice in the back of his mind reminded him that something else was just beginning, and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.


	9. Just One Dance?

I wrote this on the plane to and from Washington, D.C. - pretty happy with it. Just another fun, random oneshot, with Angela's planning and wonderful fluff. Enjoy. Takes place at some sort of party at the Jeffersonian. Leave a review!**  
**

**Words: **2555**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **Anytime after Santa in the Slush**  
Genre: **Romance/Humor

**EDITED**

* * *

"Now, I'd like everyone to use this next song to dance with someone who you didn't attend the party with. Expand your horizons."

There was scattered laughter at that. Angela turned around and clapped her hands together, a smile forming on her lips as she scanned the vast crowd. Everyone she could see was dressed in their finest. Silver and purple decorative drapes hung across the window, drinks were by every wall, and a small stage had been set up in the corner of the lobby. Live music always beat recordings.

"Should I be worried you're so excited about this?" Hodgins called from somewhere behind her.

Angela glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Men were idiots sometimes. Standing with his arms out and one eyebrow raised in question, Hodgins represented the entire male species perfectly. He also gave her a perfect opportunity for a wonderfully degrading eye roll.

"I'm looking for Booth."

"Again. Should I be worried?"

"No. I – _aha_." Spotting the man in question far in the left corner, she paused mid-sentence. "Bye, Hogdins."

"Wait! Angela - "

She paid him no attention. Her smile widened wickedly as she walked as fast as she could across the room - heels might be as sexy as hell, but unfortunately, they were not very helpful at the moment. Glancing back behind her, she snorted, seeing Hodgins dancing with an extremely annoyed expression and an extremely amused Cam. Angela flashed her boss a grateful smile.

Cam winked back, her eyes glinting with amusement. Women knew best.

Wasn't that the truth?

Making her way rapidly through the crowd, Angela shouted quick apologies to all the awkward couples and suspicious boyfriends she pushed aside. Even though she didn't really care – they were idiots. The women, of course, were enjoying this dance.

Just as she was finally approaching the familiar FBI agent, some ditsy blond chick from archeology let out a flirty little laugh and wound her arms around the man's neck, falling in helplessly. Poor guy. Angela winced inwardly. Booth's face was frozen in a smile, but Angela knew him well enough to tell that as attractive as he may be, he definitely wasn't enjoying himself. Didn't take much to guess why, either.

Another high-pitched, tinkly laugh. The girl leaned in closer and Booth was forced to accommodate.

It was time for a rescue mission.

"Sorry to interrupt, but hottie here promised me a dance," Angela stated flatly, jerking a thumb at Booth. "I've come to collect."

They stood stunned for a minute, freezing in place as the slow beat drummed on and couples swayed around them. Angela raised her eyebrows pointedly. _Get on with it, lady._

Affronted, the girl left without a word. Booth stared, looking confused. And somewhat relieved.

"Now is when you say 'thank you, Angela, I'll have sex with you for your trouble," Angela said brightly, stepping in front of Booth.

He still looked a little shocked, and his eyes flicked from her to the blond chick now standing at the bar with a glass of fresh champagne. _Bad._ Angela grabbed Booth's hands, placed them on her waist, then settled her own arms around his shoulders. _Better._ Now his attention was where it should be.

"What was that for?" he muttered, starting to sway to the music.

"Don't lie to me. I know you're grateful."

"Grateful? She was hot."

"Very true. And yet you are totally not interested."

"How do you know?"

Was he serious? How could anyone _not_ know? Guys were dense, but not _this_ dense. Surely. Booth was smart and he wasn't new to the romance field, but he also had his own issues that required her aid to resolve.

"Think about who you're talking to, Booth. I know these things."

Booth relented. Angela could how annoyed he was. It was extremely entertaining.

"Fine," he said, and if his hands had been free, Angela could imagine him holding them up in a defensive, peace-making kind of gesture. Or a "don't-shoot-me" stance. Hell, if she had a gun, she'd have him forced into a broom closest with Brennan in seconds. And she'd steal their clothes.

"Anyway," she said impishly. "I have something I need to discuss with you."

"Do I need to remind you that you're engaged?" said Booth, smiling. Their faces were inches apart.

Charm smile. _No way._ She didn't falter. "Don't even think about it, Booth."

Booth held her gaze. Angela glared back, thankful now for her impressive heels. Being almost eye level with Booth gave her an advantage she usually didn't have.

Women win again.

"You are really irritating. I've still got my gun on me, you know."

_Hot._ How could Brennan resist him like she did? "Go do whatever it is you cop-people do, then. Bust some druggie's ass outside the capitol. Why are you here?"

"Unofficial FBI liaison to the Jeffersonian, remember? I've been practically ordered to dance with every female squint in the building or I'll get my ass handed to me by my boss as soon as I step out of here."

Again. _Hot. _"You didn't have to come, though, did you? Come on. It'd make more sense to send the FBI director to a fundraising party like this. You _offered_ to come."

Booth glared at her.

Damn. Maybe she wasn't as subtle as she thought.

"Fine," he said again, a little more strongly than before. "I thought Bones would be here. So I wouldn't be the only one thinking that this was the only legal form of government-endorsed torture. I was in the mood for pie. Happy? Where is she, anyway?"

Bingo.

"Where do you think she is?" Angela asked, carefully casual. "She's in her office. Working. She always avoids these things." Booth let out an irritated sigh. Angela grinned. "Go get her. She needs you."

The song ended, and all around them the awkward couples broke apart and hurried back to their equally embarrassed dates. Booth made to move as well, but Angela didn't let him go. He was not going to leave until she was _sure_ she knew where he was headed. "Not so fast, mister. Agree."

"Agree to what?"

Did she have to spell it out for him? "To go see her. God, Booth, I thought you were smart."

He glared at her again, pointing one finger threateningly. "Hey. I don't like that."

"Look, Booth," Angela said, staring him straight in the eyes. "Unfortunately, I am not trained in five hundred types of martial arts and cannot kick your ass all the way to China in two seconds flat like Brennan can."

"That's encouraging."

"But what I can do," she continued, ignoring his interruption, "is draw upon my vast arsenal of other talents to make your life hell. So go talk to her. You know her better than anyone, Booth, and you know that. You're the only one who she lets inside. In more ways than one, hopefully - "

"Don't go there." Booth shook his head, closing his eyes and wincing.

Hah. She could make him beg. "So," she finished with a mischievous grin. Hodgins was pushing his way through the crowd, a mutinous look on his face. She slid her hand from Booth's shoulders, neatened his fancy suit, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "You are going to visit Brennan right now, and I'm going to go have sex with my extremely annoyed fiancée. See you later." She turned Booth around and pushed him towards the door. No time to lose.

Booth glanced back over his shoulder, his expression both annoyed and helpless. Puppy-dog cute. "_Why_ do you have to say things like that?"

Angela sighed, smiling, and didn't bother to respond. As a new song started up, she grabbed Hodgins' arm and dragged him off towards the back exit, ignoring his angry ramblings.

"Angela, what the hell are you doing? Did you just kiss Booth? And why did you decide to torture me by making me dance with Cam for an entire song? It's really not a good idea for me to be pissed off and then spend time with my arms around a hot chick who can either fire me or kick my ass, or both - "

Men could never understand, could they? Glancing behind her, Angela saw Booth heading towards the front door, holding to his promise. Good.

Angela smiled widely, kissing Hodgins and effectively shutting him up.

* * *

_Don't pay attention to Angela. Don't. Just ignore the fact that she's practically an expert when it comes to relationships._ _Not important._

Booth navigated his way through the still hallways of the Jeffersonian until he was on the floor of the lab and offices. Everything was shiny and quiet, the sounds of the dance trailing in the air only slightly. Honestly? It drove him crazy sometimes, but even the lab was better than a damn fundraising dance. Especially if he could just find Bones and get her out of her office for once. Enjoy a Friday night.

Careful, there.

He approached her office quietly, looking in and waiting outside the open door. Brennan was sitting at her desk, like usual, an old case file open in her hands. Her knees were pulled up in the chair and her auburn hair was hanging loosely around her face. Wavy. He liked her hair wavy - not that he was supposed to have an opinion on the matter in the first place. Partners. Just his luck that she always seemed to look beautiful no matter what she was doing.

Raising a hand, he knocked on the doorframe, drawing attention to himself. He grinned widely as she looked around, surprised. "Since when do you knock?" she asked disbelievingly.

"No reason. Just decided to be polite for once," he said, strolling inside, falling onto her couch, and propping his feet up comfortably on the coffee table. He glanced sideways across the room. Case files were spread all over her desk, and an empty cup of coffee was next to her keyboard. Booth sighed. She really needed to stop working so much. "Bones, I swear, one day I'm going to lock you out of the Jeffersonian and force you to go out and enjoy yourself for a night. You know there's a party going on? Here? Now?"

Brennan set the file down, crossing her arms and glaring at him. _So cute._ "Yes. And I enjoy myself here. I enjoy my work. And I have work to do."

"No, you don't." Booth nodded towards her desk. "We don't have a case. And that's not one of yours. Those are our old case files."

Nailed.

"I'm writing another novel."

Shut down. Still, either way, he was right. She worked too much.

"Can I read it? Are you going to dedicate this one to me too?"

"No and no," she said stubbornly, turning back to the computer screen, but she didn't type anything.

"Aw, come on, Bones," he pleaded, getting up and standing beside her chair to try and see the screen. In a flash she closed the document, leaving him seeing only her desktop. She was _fast._ "Please?" Begging worked on every other woman he'd ever met.

"No."

And not her. What a surprise.

Booth sighed again. Time for plan B. "Fine, then," he said cheerfully, and he placed his hands on her arms and lifted her swiftly out of her chair, ignoring her protests. "Come on. Now you're not working." He led her out from behind her desk, the music from the party floating back to his ears. It was a nice, slow song; very pretty.

"Dance with me?"

Shit. When had he decided to say _that_?

Surprisingly, Brennan didn't drop-kick him to the ground. She just raised an eyebrow in a question. "I'm not dressed to go down to a dance. And I hate things like that. So do you."

He was already in the frying pan, right? Might as well make it into the fire. He wrapped his arms around Brennan's waist, flashing the smile he reserved just for her. "We can hear the music from here. Besides, I've been ordered to dance with every female squint in the building. That includes you."

"Ordered? By who?" she asked suspiciously, still keeping her distance. Or trying to, at least.

"By my boss. But – nevermind." It was better to not mention Angela's role as well – that was dangerous territory.

"Just one dance?"

A still moment passed as Booth waited tensely for Brennan to make her decision. At last she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, smiling and swaying to the gentle music. "Fine."

_Hell, yes._

Grinning, Booth pulled her close, feeling her slender hips moving under his hands. The music lingered around them, the only sound other than her soft breathing by his shoulder, and the painfully load beating of his own heart. This was definitely not something partners did - but she was letting him, wasn't she? Any excuse to hold her in his arms was fine by him, even if it had meant enduring half of an awful fundraising party. It was worth it for this: to feel her body pressed close against his, her head on his shoulder, his hands on her waist.

"Much better than the last time we danced," Booth said quietly in her ear, grinning. Anything was better than uncovering a secret society of cannibals, he supposed, but that didn't matter. "Last time I was rescuing you from a bunch of idiots trying to get the only hot woman they'd seen in ages into bed. One of them was a cannibal, too - "

"Hey," she said defensively, looking up. Her nose bumped against his. "Charlie was nice."

"He was the overnight guy, Bones. You deserve someone better."

She didn't answer at first, her blue eyes glinting with amusement. Below them the music stopped and didn't start again. But they stayed where they were, eyes meeting. Her eyebrow rose. "Like?"

Did she do that to him on purpose?

"Like me," he said finally, with the shadow of a smirk. Death wish.

"Like you," she repeated.

Was that skepticism? Or amusement? It had to be amusement. She was smiling.

"Mhmm," Booth said calmly. "I'm charming, handsome - "

" – arrogant, vain - "

" – courageous, selfless - "

" – stupid, overprotective - "

" – loving, funny - "

"You're you," Brennan finished with a smirk.

Booth couldn't resist.

Sliding one hand behind her head, Booth brought her lips up to his, leaving his other hand tight around her waist. If he was going to die, he was going to die happy.

But then her hand brushed through his short hair, sliding back down to grip his tie and pull him closer, her hips pressing into his. No mistletoe. No blackmail. No overrunning emotions and need for comfort, no lawyers, and only minimal involvement from matchmaking artists. And she was kissing him. In her office. Everything else in the world vanished, unimportant, because Bones wasn't beating the crap out of him, and he was kissing her.

Booth slipped his hand back down to her waist, slowly tracing every curve of her back. There was still a good chance he'd die after this - but if he made it out still breathing, he decided he owed Angela some sort of thanks Big time.

But talking could come later.


	10. Heart

Wow, how about _Verdict in the Story_? Was that not the most intense, wonderful, beautiful episode ever? I, personally, loved it. And so out came this - a post-ep. Booth angst and, hopefully, good and realistic, hope you enjoy. Please, leave reviews, I love reading even the smallest comments!

And special thanks to my awesomest friend Aly, who was the unofficial beta for this. Thanks, luff!

**Words: **1406**  
Spoilers: **_Verdict in the Story_**  
Time: **After _Verdict in the Story_**  
Genre: **Angst

**EDITED**

* * *

A knock sounds on the door of his apartment, and he rises, broken from his thoughts. He's still wearing his pants and shirt from the trial, but he's thrown off his jacket and tie, leaving them lying wrinkled in a corner. One shoe is by the couch, another by the sink, and his socks are as bright and patterned as they always are.

He glances at the clock. Midnight. Only one person would knock on his door at midnight.

Sure enough, he opens the door and Brennan is there, looking at him with an almost cautious look in her deep eyes, like she's unsure of why she came. She, too, is still wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing in the courtroom.

Everything seems so long ago. Like so much has happened since they stood together outside, waiting for the verdict.

"Hey," he says, trying to sound cheerful.

Just the _sight_ of her – alone again, outside his door. A fresh spark of pain shoots through his heart, more painful than a bullet. Because this is _her_, lost and hurting, not just him. He hasn't managed to block out the memories for even a moment.

"Hey," she replies quietly. She looks different somehow, and he can't tell exactly why. "I can't sleep."

"Me neither," Booth says, with a shadow of his old grin. "Want to come in?"

She nods, and he steps aside to let her walk into his apartment. Closing the door behind her, he watches her walk towards the couch and coffee table, unbothered by the mess of clothes. She sits down slowly, hesitantly.

Booth stays on his feet, hands in his pockets. Now what is he supposed to do? In just days, she experienced more than what most people go through in a lifetime. She'd learned and done something she would have never considered before. And it had been him who had helped her, taught her – but at a cost.

How is he supposed to innately _know_ the right thing to say?

"I'm sorry, Bones."

Stupid.

"For what?" she asks, a disbelieving kind of almost-laugh in her voice. "You did what I wanted you to do, Booth. You saved my father."

She doesn't understand anything sometimes.

"Yeah, but see, that's not the point." He sits down beside her, leaving a careful space between them on the couch. He rubs his face in his hands, self-punishing. "The point is that I had to – I had to practically call you a murderer, Bones." He stops, taking in a deep breath. He knows he has to be strong. If he isn't strong, who will she have to lean on if she needs it?

"You were doing your job," Brennan says firmly. "You answered the lawyer's questions without perjuring yourself."

Booth can tell she doesn't even believe her own words. It isn't about just following the rules and doing their duty anymore. He laughs a little, shaking his head. If only things were that simple. A few silent seconds pass; neither of them speak and nothing around them moves. Cars speed by and the wind sets leaves rustling on trees outside, but inside there are no sounds except their tense breathing.

"Thank you." Brennan's eyes meet his, looking grey in the dim light. Her voice is soft, questioning, powerful - all at the same time.

Without speaking, Booth moves closer, taking her roughly into his arms – and she doesn't question it, leaning into him in exhaustion. Booth feels her head falling onto his shoulder, her nose barely brushing his collarbone. There's no need for words. Just like before.

He rests his head on hers and holds her shoulders tightly, desperate and gentle at the same time. They know each other, know what they need, and it's more than any words can say. Each other's presence; the strength and comfort that came from being together instead of alone.

Equals - one and the same.

They're the only people in the world. Or even just her. Her heart and her strength. His Bones, the woman who captured his heart without even trying.

Her eyes close slowly. He can feel her breath tickling his collar as auburn hair falls to cover her face. He brushes a few stray strands away from her forehead, smiling. Sure, she can't sleep.

Looking up at the ceiling, Booth instinctively tightens his arms around her, protective.

Why are there so few times he can do this? Hold her; feel her pressing against his side, comfortable in his arms. It's only when she's confused, because she can control fear, guilt, every other emotion that causes most people to need some sort of comfort.

But she isn't _most people_; she's Bones.

A tiny feeling of pride begins to stir in him. He knows what she _is_ afraid of, and what she conquered.

She's afraid of her heart; of emotion and feeling. Love, in a sense.

And yet she risked everything out of love for her father, a murderer, a man like so many others they work to imprison. Logic and reason tells them – tells _her_ - that her father is guilty, but she still allowed her heart to win. For once, she did what felt right, not necessarily what was true.

The spark of pride in his heart grows, and he rubs her shoulder, feeling her shift in her sleep. A bittersweet smile and a sigh escapes his lips. She understands – at last - what everyone has been trying to teach her for so long. And out of all the people who've tried to help her, it's ended up being him who's gotten her to make that final leap. He's proud of her for that.

But a part of him wishes that she hadn't had to learn the hard way. The one time she listens and takes his advice is _now_?

No, she'd listened before. She just hadn't understood. But at the trial?

It was the one time she knew. Knew what he meant, knew what she had to do, and made her decision. Up on the stand, Booth didn't know if he had ever been more proud of her, and yet he had still felt a freezing pain wash over him when he realized what he had to do.

How much heart had it taken her to watch him testify? Had it been as hard for her as it was for him?

No. Because nothing could be harder than what he had done - essentially telling the world that she was a murderer, as close to perjury as he could get. And when he'd looked into her eyes, he'd known he had to do it. It had to be him. She's smart and she's strong. It was part of her plan, her story; the only way to free her father.

Breathing in slowly and deeply, Booth's mind flies back to the present. He takes in the scent of her hair and skin, a mix of dust, faint perfume, and the unique scent belonging only to her.

He can't count on having this chance again. The chance to hold her.

The streets below are quiet at last, leaving no distraction available to his tired mind. The sense of self-punishment washes over him again, because he doesn't deserve this. He betrayed her, when he'd promised her that he never would.

A broken promise and a shattered heart. Right or wrong, true or false, it doesn't matter; he still betrayed her, whether she wanted him to or not.

How can he still deserve her company?

He wishes she had learned to use her heart another time, if only because it would have taken away his pain. The pain of sitting on different sides of the courtroom, the pain of seeing her put herself up as a suspect, the pain of betraying her.

But between his pain and her happiness, there's no contest. He knows it'll take time before he feels whole again; before he feels like he's worth anything again.

But he'll repair himself for her. Because she did so much in just hours. She risked her heart for her father - a murderer walking free, and a good man at the same time. A protector and a man who cared so much he would give up everything to be with her.

The similarities are almost ironic. Booth leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, but knowing he won't sleep.

Maybe she'll risk her heart for him someday, too.


	11. Shattered

This is really different from my usual style. Double-drabble, it's disjointed and impressionistic on purpose, so it might come out like crap, but I really wanted to write something like this. Joining the flood of fanfiction following that fantastic ending to _Wannabe in the Weeds_. So just tell me what you think. Even though this probably will only make sense to my crazy mind.

Again, thanks to my luff Aly. We pwn at our unofficial beta-ing.

**Words: **200**  
Spoilers: **_Wannabe in the Weeds_**  
Time: **Directly after _Wannabe in the Weeds_**  
Genre: **Angst

**EDITED**

* * *

_One second. One shot. Pain._

Blood stains her fingers, crimson against her pale skin. Blood that shouldn't be there. The shot was meant for her.

_Her world spins around her, images and sounds beginning to blur and fade. _

It should be her lying on the floor; broken, losing consciousness. How many times has he lain his life on the line for her now?

_Vague voices call out to her in the distance, but she can't hear them. _

She pushes hard against his chest. The blood is on his clothes, on the ground. Her hands shake. Had she known, before, what he meant to her? Could she picture her life without him in it?

_Stay conscious, she tells him. Don't leave. His hand grasps hers, a lifeline, a connection to reality. _

But if the world is ruled by logic and reason, why is it Booth lying fallen on the ground?

_His blood runs onto her hands, burning, leaving behind the streaked marks of a shattered life. Shattered beyond guilt; beyond love. _

She'd let herself go, only to end up falling back by his side. But she holds herself together. She holds herself together so she can hold him.

_Shattered and bleeding._


	12. Truth

Okay so there was GOING to be a back story to this. But I was on a plane and I ran out of paper, and reading it over, I thought it kinda made sense and worked alone, so yeah. Knock yourselves out and I hope this makes sense. Fanfic is all that's keeping me going until Bones starts again in the fall...

Feel free to drop reviews anytime. ;D**  
**

**Words: **2533**  
Spoilers: **None**  
Time: **After Season 3**  
Genre: **Romance/Angst

**EDITED**

* * *

"There. That feel better?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Booth."

"No problem." Booth placed a last gentle pressure on Brennan's sore shoulders. He ran a hand through his messy hair - hair that had gone far too long without seeing shampoo. "Least I can do. It's my fault you're like this anyway."

They sat close together on Brennan's couch. The aroma of wine and their completed meal of microwaved vegetables and whatever else resided in Brennan's refrigerator still lingered in the kitchen, along with the untouched dishes. It was all the sort of things Booth barely deemed edible, but he hadn't complained. Spending the time with her was worth the rabbit food and lack of hamburgers. She was hurt, so he had a nice excuse this time.

Brennan turned to face him with a familiar skeptical expression firmly in place. "Your fault? I thought you said it was all because of me that we got caught."

"Yeah, well, circumstances changed," Booth muttered. _Drop it,_ he pleaded silently.

"What circumstances? We were still on a stakeout; we were still kidnapped by two crackheads with .45's trying to save some buddy crackhead we had gotten for our case. And it was still all someone's fault. I'm saying yours, because you didn't shoot them."

"It's the crackheads' fault," said Booth, irritated and not wanting to think about it. They were back at her place relatively in one piece and had wine and food - they didn't need anything else. "And I didn't shoot them because one of them had a gun at your head, Bones. Besides, that's not what I meant."

_Get the message, Bones. Drop it. Anyone can._

"What did you mean, then?"

She could never be a normal person and drop the subject. That was completely out-of-the-question. He should have known that by now.

"Look, Bones," Booth said, trying to get it over with all at once. Like ripping of a band-aid, he reasoned – better if it's done fast. "Them taking you and torturing you was a pretty big circumstance to change, if you hadn't noticed."

Brennan fell silent. Glancing over at her, Booth's careful eyes saw the dim light from her lamp dancing over her face, throwing the cut on her cheek into sharper definition. Red against white. Otherwise her face was calm and cool, auburn hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

"Bastards," he muttered, shaking his head and staring determinedly at the carpet. "They knew exactly what they were doing when they took you. They were multitasking."

"They were torturing me for control and information," said Brennan after a moment. With the familiar oblivious-and-innocently-confused tone and all.

Sometimes she really made him want to hit something. Or shoot it. Booth leaned back into her couch and glared at his partner. She was really forcing him to relive this?

Oh, yes.

"You know what else they were doing?" he began heatedly. Honestly, he didn't even know why he was angry. It'd be more normal to be scared or sad or something. But, no, something about this damn woman always irritated a traitorous part of him. Yet still, he couldn't stand seeing the cuts on her face and the bruises on her skin.

His fault.

"They picked you for a reason. They put you in front of me for a reason. Because watching them torture you - "

Pause. _Breathe in, breathe out._

Close beside him, Booth could tell Brennan was watching him carefully. Sounds from the street below drifted up around them in the silence, filling the apartment. Booth met her gaze fiercely. There was no way he could describe what it had been like watching her being tortured, with him helpless and bound, but he could say enough.

"It was a double motive. They nearly got what they wanted out of me, even though they were only physically harming you. _Because_ they were physically harming you."

Something in Brennan's eyes changed as Booth watched her, but it was obvious that she still didn't understand. "What, you mean – they picked me because they thought they could get information out of _you_ by making you watch when they tortured me?"

Very matter-of-fact. Like always. "Good summary, Bones," muttered Booth sarcastically.

"Why me?" she challenged. "Why'd they pick me over you?"

"Because – because you're you," said Booth helplessly. How else could he explain? He took a few deep breaths, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"You've said that to me at least three times and I still have no idea what it means."

"It means that they knew exactly how much hell it would be for me to watch you being tortured."

"And you think it wouldn't be hell for me?" asked Brennan, incredulous. "I'm just wondering what made them pick me over you, when to an outsider, you'd be seen as the bigger threat."

Was that a hidden compliment? Leaning back, Booth's mood improved - slightly.

"Even if that's not true."

Shot right back down. Practically growling, Booth let a long breath and turned to face his very annoyed partner. Hell, he was annoyed himself. "Thanks, Bones. Let's just drop the whole subject now, kay? You're supposed to be getting rest, you know, and this is not helping."

"I just want to know why, that's all."

"Because they're junkies with mud for brains! Does it matter?"

She glowered at him. "There's always reasons behind actions, Booth, even if it happens unconsciously. Maybe if we understood them they'd be easier to get into prison."

Booth was barely even aware when his temper snapped. She was talking so damn casually, when they had been through hell and back together – crackheads had reasons for this? For torturing her in front of his eyes? Before he knew it, he was shooting her a deadly stare, shouting like they were on opposite sides of the room.

"Fine. Why'd they take you, then? Because if they took me instead, you'd only be watching your friend and partner being tortured, not the person you're in love with!"

Brennan stared at him, her mouth open just slightly - shocked. Booth stared back, confused, before a horrible thought occurred to him. She was looking at him like she couldn't believe her ears, icy eyes wide.

_Oh, God._

Leaping up, Booth rubbed his face with both hands, peering through his fingers. "Please tell me I didn't just say that out loud."

Brennan's eyes were wide, and Booth, usually so adept at reading her expressions, could see nothing in them. She nodded slowly.

Booth froze in horror. He turned around so quickly that his foot scuffed her neat carpet. Pacing back and forth in front of her couch, he cursed silently, over and over. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ What had he done?

Feeling her sharp eyes trained on his back, he turned back around, and said the first thing he could think of.

"Forget I said that." _Stupid._ He waved a hand through the air. "Just – forget it."

Silence.

"Is that the truth?"

Booth stared at her intently. Her eyes threw daggers into his heart, piercing and clear. Powerful. But she wasn't shouting. She wasn't leaving and she wasn't punching his face in. Taking a deep breath, Booth wondered how he could salvage the situation - lie? Evade? If he lied, she'd never trust him again, and he'd lose everything. If he told her the truth, chances were he'd lose everything anyway. Lose everything, or probably lose everything? Neither sounded preferable.

"What do you want me to say, Bones?" he demanded at last, raising his hands defensively. "What do you want to hear?"

"I need the truth," she interrupted, standing and taking a step towards him. Her expression was so strong that Booth nearly took a step back - flashing eyes, set mouth, glaring eyebrows. It was very Bones-like, he knew all too well.

Instead Booth laughed bitterly, shaking his head but unable to tear his eyes away from her face. "You can be a real pain in the ass, Bones, that's the truth."

The corner of her mouth pulled up for just a fraction of a second, hinting at the smile he loved. "Pleased to hear it," she said coolly.

Another silence fell, this one tense and expectant. Booth stalled; Brennan waited, her expression never wavering. It was impressive.

_She wants the truth, she gets the truth. _

"Everyone who meets you calls you cold and unfeeling," Booth said quietly, closing the gap between them so that Brennan was looking up to see his face. "Everyone says you're cut off; that you only care about work; that you must have no normal human emotions at all."

A flicker of pain flashed through Brennan's eyes - an instant contradiction to everything Booth had just said. But Brennan didn't speak and even though a part of him was screaming at the thought of causing her pain, Booth went on. It had a purpose.

"I was just like all the rest of them at first. All you ever showed me was Dr. Temperance Brennan. Nothing more, nothing less."

Now they were so close he could feel the heat from her body and her fast, hitched breathing. Neither of them stepped back.

"But now? I know you more than they do, Bones. And every day I'd find out something different about you. Something that other people didn't get to see. Something that told me you weren't like everyone said you were. Everything that affected us affected you just as much; you felt the same kind of pain we all did. Every day. You just never showed it. You refused to open yourself up to anyone, because you were terrified you'd get hurt again."

Each word was spoken with a cold ferocity that Booth didn't know he had in him. Brutal honesty.

Brennan nodded cautiously, an invitation to continue. Her eyes were wide and her face was flushed.

Booth paused to take a breath. Just a few more explanations, and maybe she wouldn't shoot him. "Everything you did had to have a reason. A logical reason; something that made sense. So people thought that's all you were: cool logic. But face it, Bones. You've changed. I've seen it and I've helped you. You don't just act on reason anymore – brain and heart, remember?"

Her face remained a mask. "I don't see where this is going."

Booth sighed. He would have to spell it out for her.

"All I'm saying is that maybe this – maybe this is worth using a lot of heart for, too."

Silence – silence so thick it was like being crammed into a janitor's closet the size of his desk drawer. Booth's heart pounded somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as he waited for her reaction.

_Dammit._ He had to force himself to focus – _Bones, Bones, Bones_. She was looking so much like she always did – wavy hair falling gently around her face and fierce blue eyes glaring at him; always at him. The eyes that could sometimes see right through him and sometimes took way too long to grasp even a simple concept.

Suddenly Brennan threw her arms tightly around his neck, her head pressing into his shoulder.

_What?_

"Can't say I was expecting that," said Booth quietly as he wrapped his arms carefully around her. He was holding her? Not that he was complaining, at all, but _still_. It must be some sort of karma-payback for the hell they'd gone through all week.

"I'm full of surprises," she replied flatly. Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

Grinning, Booth tightened his arms around his partner, cataloging the moment in his memory. Even with his heart banging so erratically he was beginning to fear for his health, he still vaguely realized what this was. Or what it could mean, at least.

And either way, it was still another one of the limited chances for him to hold her like nothing else in the world existed.

Of course, it never lasted long. She pulled away, putting her hands on her hips and breathing in deeply. Booth noted that her face was dry and her eyes very not-red; of course she wasn't crying. He'd gotten spoiled when it came to women's emotions over him. This woman, however, was not like all the rest of them.

Because this was Bones.

"What about your line?" said Brennan, calm and even, meeting his eyes.

Booth reached out with one hand and took her chin between his fingers. He gently ran his thumb over the cut on her face. "You want the truth?"

"Just like always." A tiny, familiar, stubborn smile graced her features.

_Don't forget to breathe._

"I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing. But I think that line faded a long time ago."

Brennan was studying him carefully.

_Come on,_ Booth pleaded, to God and to her and to anybody_. Please?_

Slowly – agonizingly slowly - Brennan raised herself up and pressed her lips to his, sliding her arms carefully around his neck again. Booth hesitated only a moment before he lost himself completely in her. He tangled his fingers in her hair, slipped his hand around to the back of her head, let his other hand come to rest on her waist.

His mind completely blanked out for at least five minutes. He was _kissing Bones_ and he wasn't dreaming or being blackmailed by a puckish prosecution lawyer_. _Was it time for a pinch? A kick? Pulling Brennan close, Booth ran his hand lightly down the curve of her spine, eliciting a small shiver as he settled it on her other side. Part of him was terrified he'd wake up and find this all to be a dream. A very realistic dream – but still.

Brennan pulled away first, slipping out of Booth's arms and sitting down on her couch. She shot him an odd glance, a look of amused hopelessness, if that was possible. "Oh, shit."

"What? What'd I do?" asked Booth, appalled. Had he seriously managed to screw this up already? After two minutes? The dream was about to become a nightmare.

"How am I going to tell _Angela_ about this?"

Relieved, Booth burst out laughing, flopped himself down beside her, and propped his legs up on the coffee table, slipping an arm casually around her shoulders. He tossed her a careless grin, suddenly happier than he had been in ages, despite everything. "That is all your problem, Bones, not mine."

She poked him hard in the chest. "You're coming with me."

Booth winced – but he wasn't too annoyed. Nervous, maybe, because he wasn't sure exactly how loudly Angela would squeal. But not annoyed. Because anything was worth it for this. Booth smiled as his partner rested her head on his shoulder.

His partner? His what, now?

His striking, surprising, beautiful Bones.


	13. Mindnumbing Lies

Fast update, eh? Only cause I'm about to be gone for three weeks. But I printed all my stories - lots of paper - and am taking them with me, and will edit and write my ass off (hopefully) during whatever break times we get.

And anyway, since EVERYBODY'S doing one, I've gotta fit in and write one too. It's a post-ep to _Wannabe in the Weeds_ and a pre-ep to _Pain in the Heart_. Which, I must say, I didn't think was THAT awful. It was rushed, sure, but I thought it was okay. And just a notice: I know Booth's boss was Cullen in Season 1, but we haven't heard from him after that, and so my deputy director/boss person will remain nameless. Cause I'm lazy.

Thank you SO MUCH to all you wonderful people that have reviewed - you make the world go round. Review away so the world keeps spinning!

**Words: **1596**  
Spoilers: **_Wannabe in the Weeds _and _Pain in the Heart_**  
Time: **Between _Wannabe in the Weeds_ and _Pain in the Heart_  
**Genre: **General/Romance**  
**

**EDITED**

* * *

Booth blinked, dully noting that he was woozy. Maybe he was hungover. Was it worth it to try and remember the night before? There had been plenty of times in his life when he wished he'd stayed in a peaceful, inebriated slumber, rather than waking back to the real world.

But, unfortunately, this was not one of those times. A nagging sense in the back of his head told him that he was forgetting something important.

_Oh, yeah. Maybe that you were shot? Minor setback._

Beep, beep, beep. Shuffled, muted footsteps. With a groan, Booth opened his eyes, knowing what he'd see - white hospital walls, flashing monitors keeping up with his vitals, and an IV stuck in his arm.

But what he didn't expect was standing right by his beside, not wearing scrubs or a white coat or casual clothes from an open-mike club. No, this guy was decked out in one-hundred-percent designer suit and tie. He even had shined shoes.

It had to be from the medication.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Booth asked, groggy.

"Using this very brief window of opportunity granted to us by your innate need to play the hero."

His boss. Pudgy-faced and menacing, the new deputy director of the FBI was not someone Booth wanted to see in any case, much less now. Why was his boss at his bedside after a near-death experience, and not Bones and the squints? And _playing the hero_?

"What?" asked Booth irritably.

His boss flashed a photo of a middle-aged man with hard eyes and gray hair. "Remember this guy?"

Booth squinted before his memory kicked back in. "Yeah. Drove him underground. Years ago."

"Swore that the next time anyone would see him would be at your funeral. Brilliant move, by the way."

_Thanks, I didn't know._ "Yeah."

The photo was tucked back into a pristine pocket. "The Bureau's arranged everything. The docs will pronounce you dead and we'll get you into hiding until a state-funded funeral service, which you will attend as a part of the Honor Guard. So you can catch this damn bastard."

Glancing over at the medical screen by his bed, the only drug Booth recognized was morphine. He'd been in hospitals enough to know that morphine meant mind-numbing painkiller. Painkiller, good. Mind-numbing? Not so much.

"What?"

"You've been shot, Agent Booth," said his boss in the tone usually directed at three-year-olds or especially dense suspects – a slow and carefully enunciated drawl. "We're going to fake your death so we can capture a national security threat. Understand?" He tapped the pocket that held the picture.

"Wait a minute," Booth said suddenly, his muddled mind beginning to make the connections. Dead? National security? "You want to tell everyone that I'm dead?"

"Yes."

"No way. I am not going to let my five-year-old son believe his father's dead."

Pulling out a piece of paper, his boss glared at him as if he'd like nothing better to do than fire him on the spot. His face was reddening like a beetroot. "Give me a list of people and the Bureau will inform them as soon as possible."

"Sooner."

"Names, Booth. And they better be trustworthy. This is a national security issue. Keep it short. Please."

What, did his boss think he couldn't understand compound sentences today? Booth sighed, relenting, and went through the names in his head before speaking. "Parker, my son. And so also his mother. Rebecca."

His boss scribbled uninterestedly. It was infuriating. "Your parents?"

"My mom. My brother, Jared, too," Booth added. His dad would be fine without the truth, Booth thought bitterly. But if Jared thought that his big brother was dead, he'd get angry. Too angry to control himself, and he'd start the heavy drinking again or do something else equally stupid.

"Anyone else?" It was dry and clearly aggravated: his boss held true to the fewer-the-better policy.

Other relatives? None of them cared enough. They'd find out eventually. There was only one other person that he wanted to tell. "Bones," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Temperance Brennan," Booth clarified.

"Your partner? The squint?"

"Yeah," said Booth defensively. He didn't want anyone insulting his Bones – much less his decision to tell her. "That a problem, sir?" He could get away with sarcasm at this point - because they'd never nail the guy without Booth's cooperation.

Booth's boss glared at him again, folding the piece of paper. "Not at all."

"You've got to tell her. Them."

"It'll get done."

Suddenly another thought struck Booth - he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been out. Hours? Days? No calendars or signs were visible at all. It was an ICU; all there was medical crap, blinded windows, and a few scrubbed and gloved doctors on the other side of the room.

"Hey, boss," Booth called, not caring about due respect. He couldn't exactly be fired at the moment, and he'd just been shot – he could act like a five-year-old if he wanted to. "How long was I out?"

The deputy director checked his watch. "All night. Seven hours."

"Ah."

Too long. The squint squad – and Bones – would've gone home to sleep. He tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed.

"The docs say you'll be good to go in maybe an hour if you stay stable. Wasn't actually a bad injury at all; it hit above your lung. We'll get you out the back, cause those squints you were with are still here."

"They're still here?" asked Booth, coughing. They'd stayed here for seven hours?

"Yeah. For as smart as they're supposed to be, it was really stupid to waste the entire night." With a shrug, Booth's boss jerked his fat head at one of the doctors, who scurried over quickly.

Booth considered all this, taking in a few deep breaths. "Are they all alright? Is Bones? Can I see her?"

Only to make sure she got the message that he wasn't really dead. And that she wasn't hurt. And wasn't burying herself in guilt.

"They're all fine – stalker lady's not, though, your partner shot her, have fun with that paperwork – and of course you can't see her. You let her in, you let all of them in. You want to tell _all_ the squints that you're not dead?" His expression made his opinions on the matter very clear.

"I trust the squints," Booth muttered. Most of the time – when they weren't blowing stuff up pointlessly, at least. And Bones shot Pam?

His boss scoffed. "Yeah. Right. Sorry, Booth, you can't see your girlfriend until we've caught this guy. The docs'll announce you dead as soon as we're able to get you out of here and undercover. You know the drill, Booth – no meetings, no communication of any kind. Nothing."

"I got it," said Booth irritably. No Bones. His boss walked around the bed to talk to one of the doctors, muttering stupid things about government jurisdiction, doctor-patient confidentiality, and any ongoing treatments or limitations. It didn't really sound important.

Because Booth also understood something else, apart from what he had to do.

Rebecca, Parker, and his parents would find out immediately that he wasn't actually dead – the "notice" they'd receive would first inform them of the truth. They'd never think he was dead for even a minute. But Bones and the squints would be there in the waiting room when the doctors came out. So for the few hours before the Bureau could get to her, she'd think he was dead and gone. Killed taking a bullet for her.

Booth knew her too well to delude himself into believing that she wouldn't be affected by that. Bones would never forget those few hours when she thought he had died for her.

The question was, would she learn and come to terms with herself, or would she close herself off from everyone and ignore the pain?

He didn't know the answer, and he probably wouldn't be able to see her and explain everything in person for days. Booth glanced at the opaque, blinded windows, picturing her sitting right outside. In his mind's eye, he could see her with her elbows on her knees and her chin propped up in her hands. Hair falling forward. Eyes bright and tired. Would she be crying?

Hell, no. She didn't do that. And all the other squints, too – Cam, Hodgins, Angela, Zack, even Sweets. They were still waiting. What would he say to them?

Grimacing, Booth ignored the bandage across his aching chest and reached over to increase the morphine. He might as well take advantage of mind-numbing comforts while he had them.


	14. No Sex on Sundays

Another chapter. It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been editing - many of the the previous chapters have been MAJORLY edited, take a look. They're practically rewritten. But, anyway, another random shot, just B/B being hot. Like usual.

**Words: **858  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Time:** Future  
**Genre:** Humor/Romance

* * *

Something moved. Something big and warm, and it was moving away.

_Not fair._

Brennan opened her eyes blearily, rolling to the side of her bed and flinging out an arm. The sheets were warm, but there was definitely nothing there.

"Booth?" she moaned, closing her eyes again. It was too early and there was too much light – where was he?

A rustling caught her attention. She had to open her eyes. Booth was standing by her cabinet, in just his polka-dotted boxers, looking through the many drawers and cursing explicitly. Brennan watched, bemusedly, as he pulled out one of his nicer shirts, a relatively non-crazy tie, and clean slacks.

No. Brennan frowned – they did not have to work today. And therefore, he should not be putting on clothes. At all. "Booth," she said again, imploringly.

Her partner turned around while hopping awkwardly on one foot, half-in and half-out of his formal black pants. Glancing up at her quickly, he pulled them all the way on and grabbed a belt from the top of the cabinet. The one without the cocky belt buckle. "Hey, Bones, I -"

Brennan sat up, stretching tiredly. And she didn't take note of the sheets falling off her shoulders until Booth groaned, shut his eyes, and turned away from her. Quickly.

"Bones, don't _do_ that."

"Do what?" Brennan glanced down. "You've never exactly minded before." All the same, out of courtesy Brennan picked up the sheet again and reached around for her bathrobe. It was nowhere to be found.

"Here," muttered Booth, tossing her a robe. She slipped it over her shoulders.

"What are you doing up this early anyway? Up this early and not having sex, at least."

Booth slid his arms into a clean button-down shirt with a glare from over his shoulder. "It's Sunday."

"And?" Pushing buttons, all the time, and she knew it. Brennan smirked.

And received another deadly glare. "I like to go to church on Sundays," said Booth with deadly, forced calm. "Because I like to pray."

"Oh." Crossing her arms, Brennan watched him dress – she was bored. "You don't have to be there for another hour."

"I don't like being late," he growled.

"Oh," said Brennan again. Time for plan B.

Yawning and laying down on her side, Brennan curled up a little over the sheets, getting herself nice and comfortable. Predictably, the loose robe fell open at her chest and slid upwards to expose her legs. As if Booth could resist. Brennan closed her eyes innocently, but a smile still crept onto her face. It was too much fun.

"Bones!"

"What?"

"Don't do that!"

She couldn't help it. Brennan cracked open an eye to see Booth standing in agony with a hand over his eyes.

So amusing.

"What?" said Brennan innocently. "Is that another church rule? No sex on Sundays?"

Booth glared at her darkly. He was obviously trying to look furious, or scare her – but it had the opposite effect. It was extremely hot.

"Because if it is," Brennan began thoughtfully, "you've already broken it, you know - "

"I have not," growled Booth, taking a few threatening steps closer to the bed. His shirt was still unbuttoned.

"You got here after midnight, and you were not content to just go to sleep, you had to wake me up - "

"You know what, Bones? Just stop," Booth said fiercely. He placed one hand firmly on the bedpost above Brennan's head, leaning over her with his dark eyes flaming. "Don't go there with me right now. Just don't."

Standing up smoothly, Brennan met his gaze with ease. Inches away from him, she felt his heavy breathing hot on her face.

Sure, he didn't want her right now. Sure.

With a coy smirk, Brennan pressed her hands against Booth's chest and pushed her body close to his. His breathing hitched suddenly and he grabbed her hands. She had him now.

"Bones," he growled again, but there was an astonishingly mixed message in his voice. Brennan smiled, feeling the heat radiating from between them. Booth stood frozen in front of her for nearly a full minute – probably trying to get his raging libido under control.

Pinning both her wrists together above her head with one hand, Booth pointed warningly, glowering. "I'm going to church," he said, sounding only slightly out-of-breath. "I am not going to be late, okay?"

He let go of her wrists, grabbed his jacket, and disappeared out the door, buttoning his shirt rapidly as he went. Knowing him, he'd probably be so distracted he'd have to start his buttoning job all over at least three times.

"Can I come with you?" Brennan called suddenly. Why not?

"_No_." A door slammed, leaving the apartment unusually quiet and pleasantly warm.

Brennan stood there for a moment. Then she smirked and fell back onto their bed, spreading out nicely. A morning well spent, she thought. Even with no sex involved. The real question, though, was whether or not Booth felt the same way.

Smiling, Brennan predicted that this "no sex on Sundays" deal would not last very long. Not if she had anything to say about it.


	15. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

This is for Lerdo's LJ/FF BB challenge - write a fic based on the song _Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic_ by the police. It must be titled Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, relate to the song, and can't be a songfic. So this is my piece - it might make sense only to me, so I apologize if it doesn't relate enough to the prompt. But I like it, and it's what came out after I listened to the song five hundred times. So thank you for the prompt, Lerdo, and I hope everyone enjoys!

**Words:** 477  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Time:** Future  
**Genre: **Romance

**Disclaimer:** I hate these. But whatever. I don't own the Police song _Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic_.

* * *

The tiny box burns a hole in my pocket, a constant reminder of my lack of courage. Three days ago I bought this, slipped it into my jacket, and it hasn't moved since then. I bounce nervously on my feet outside the lab, waiting till I can think straight before I enter. The last time I did this I messed it up. I was wrong. It was wrong. And I still felt guilty for longer than I can remember. So this time, I'm forgetting that, and I'm going on to try again. I picked it out carefully – not bulky, so she can still wear those latex gloves. But still stunning; silver and sparkling. Magical, the seller said. Four months' pay, and it's worth it. This love is so different.

It's nearly silent – it's fairly late – and she's the only one on the platform. She straightens up from the skeleton she had been examining and a small smile, sad smile curls across her face. I know what that smile means. She's found the answer. Whatever she was looking for, she's found, and it's always sad, but she knows it's better than leaving it a mystery.

It's magical how she does that, day after day, story after story.

I'm supposed to call out to her, wave, be assertive. I'm supposed to, but I don't. I'm frozen when she looks up and sees me, her smile shining in her eyes at last. She closes the files and the computers and comes down to meet me.

"I have to get my bag from my office and I'll be ready," she says, passing by me. I can only nod as she walks away.

When she returns, she's lost the lab coat and instead wears jeans and a patterned, low-cut red shirt. For the first time since I'd arrived, I grin. I'd forgotten how easily she can affect me.

"Ready?" I ask, placing my hand on her back and leading her to the door.

She doesn't respond – she never does – but sometimes I think I can feel her smile.

It's still sprinkling as we step outside, so I lend her my jacket, to keep her drier. After brief protests, she accepts it, and slips her hands into the pockets.

Only after we've arrived at the diner and she's returned my very damp jacket to my very damp shoulders do I remember. I feel my left pocket burning more than ever, a reminder, a constant reminder of every time I've given up. Frozen, I glance over at her. She knows. She must know.

But her eyes are clear and her face calm, betraying nothing.

I realize suddenly why she's doing this. Because she knows what it means to me. She's letting me do it my way, because it's something I care about.

I smile. I'm not alone.

Every little thing she does is magic.


	16. Say It

This one is thanks to **FFnetfanHANNAH**, for the request - a kind of continuation of chapter 12, where Booth and Brennan _try_ to tell Angela. Hope you enjoy! Again, thanks to all you wonderful reviewers, you have no idea how much you make me smile!

**Words:** 860  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Time:** Future-ish  
**Genre: **Humor/Romance

* * *

"You say it."

"No, you."

"You called her - "

"Yeah, but you're her best friend - "

"Which is exactly why I shouldn't tell her!"

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Because – because…."

"Ha. Gotcha."

"Booth!"

"Um, hi?"

The two bickering partners whipped around, catching sight of a curious artist standing in the doorway to Booth's office. Even in the morning, she looked perfectly ready to cause trouble. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, eyes twinkling with delight. "You called me?" she asked Booth. Her eyes flicked to Brennan for a split second, then back to Booth.

"Uh, yeah," Booth said distractedly. "Um - "

"Just say it," hissed Brennan.

"No! _You_ say it - "

"It was your idea in the first place, you know. "

"Yeah, but you were the one who said - "

"I didn't get a chance to say anything because _you_ kept interrupting me!"

"Who's interrupting now?"

"Just because you're being shy doesn't mean - "

"Shy?!"

"Yes, _shy_ - "

"Oh – my - God."

Booth and Brennan froze, somehow just inches apart, and turned their heads, staring at the wide-eyed, awestruck artist.

"Oh – my – _God_," Angela repeated, lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Oh my God!"

"Will you stop saying that?" Booth grumbled irritably.

"You're – you're - " Angela gestured frantically between them. "No _way_."

"Yeah, yeah, are we through with this now?" muttered Booth, feeling like he must be dying some sort of horrific death.

Angela squealed with delight and rushed over to them, crushing Brennan into a hug and speaking so fast Booth could barely understand what she was saying. "Ohmygod, I'm so happy for you, see, I knew it! I knew it! I told you, sweetie, didn't I? Why didn't you listen sooner, this has taken _forever_ - "

Breaking away from Brennan, Angela turned to Booth, who immediately backed away, terrified. The artist flung her arms around him too, in the most enormous bear hug Booth had ever received in his entire life. Practically choking, he patted Angela pointedly on the back, but his overexcited friend refused to move an inch, chattering away excitedly.

"Way to go, Booth, way to go, I knew you'd get to her in the end - "

Brennan snorted from behind him.

"Oh, god," Angela said happily as she bounced away. "You guys are great, you know that? You really are. I love you both. Honestly."

Glowing with joy, she clapped her hands together and flew out of the room, undoubtedly spreading the word as far and wide as she could in record time. Booth sighed and fell into his chair, Brennan sitting on the desk beside him.

"That went well, I think," she stated flatly.

"Really?" Booth asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Brennan blinked, and Booth gave up.

He sighed and pointed accusingly at her. "I still don't see why wouldn't just say it."

Brennan gaped at him. "You would just tell me I'd done it wrong if I'd tried!"

"That's never stopped you before, has it?"

"Only because you - "

Suddenly Booth grabbed her elbow and pulled her towards him, cutting off her words with a firm kiss. She instinctively tensed for a second, then relaxed in his grip, pressing her body close, moving with him -

"Hey, guys, I - "

Lips still locked, Booth and Brennan snapped their eyes open and looked again at the door. It was Sweets, his eyes the size of saucers and his mouth hanging open slightly, a look of complete shock etched onto his face. All three people froze – then Sweets blinked, and seemed to work hard to suppress a burst of laughter.

"Okay," he said slowly, smirking. "Okay, I'll see you guys next week, then." He paused. "This is _so_ going to be a part of my book, by the way. And if you refuse, then I can always just _recommend_ to the FBI that your working relationship has been compromised, and it would be beneficial to sever the partnership. Just so you know."

Sweets left, the laugh escaping him as soon as he was out of sight. Booth groaned and buried his face miserably in his hands.

"That could have gone better," Brennan said calmly.

"Really?" said Booth, glowering.

"We just got blackmailed," she said. Again, very calmly.

"You think?!"

"Yes."

Booth sighed, rubbed his eyes wearily, and stood up. "We're going to be attacked if we stay here any longer. Let's go the diner, all right?"

Brennan nodded, letting Booth pull her up off of his desk. Sticking his head out the door, he glanced both directions, talking in a low voice. "Okay. Nobody around. Let's go."

"What are you doing?" asked Brennan, bewildered, as he ran stealthily toward the elevators, desperately motioning for her to follow.

"Hurry up," he hissed.

The elevator binged into sight and opened. Booth backed into it, waving his arm rapidly. "Come on, come _on_."

"Um, Booth?" Brennan said when she stepped cautiously into the elevator.

"What?"

She pointed, and Booth whipped around.

"Dude," Hodgins said, grinning broadly from the corner of the elevator. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

Booth almost pulled out his gun and shot him.


	17. No Vacancy

Another random oneshot. It's kind of three connected drabbles. All taking place at some point during _Woman in the Sand_, like chapter 6 - and even if they aren't actually sharing a room in that ep, just pretend. P Thank you so much reviewers! I love you, I love you, I love you, I give you all Booth with a cherry on top. and that's it. So keep reviewing!

**Words:** 972  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Time:** During _Woman in the Sand_  
**Genre:** Humor

* * *

No vacancies. No vacancies. No fucking vacancies.

_What the hell is it with this city? America's playground? More like America's hellhole._

Booth grimaced, pressing the gas a little harder in frustration. Beside him, his partner glared irritably as the little arrow on the dash began to flutter towards fifteen over. Stupid speed limits.

"Booth, slow down, we'll miss a hotel."

"Like there are any in this place anyway," muttered Booth angrily.

Brennan glared again. "You're a little tense tonight."

"Yeah? Maybe because we're working the murder of a young woman, it's nearly midnight and I haven't had a beer, and there are no vacant hotels in this entire city," he growled in return. He was really not in the mood.

Silence fell. It was a low blow to use the case, Booth realized, as he watched Brennan stare out the window at Vegas' vast, constantly lit cityscape. "Sorry," he muttered apologetically, throwing her another glance. _Eyes on the road, _he reminded himself.

"Not a problem," Brennan said coolly, still not looking at him.

Booth groaned inwardly. So now, on top of everything, she was irritated, too. If they couldn't find a hotel soon - if they had to sleep in the damn car –

Sleeping in a really tiny space with a really pissed off Bones didn't exactly sound like the ideal night.

"There!"

Brennan's finger flew to the windshield, pointing at a grimly lit sign – VEGAS M TEL, VAC NT.

Great.

* * *

"Two rooms, nonsmoking," Booth said grumpily as he slammed a credit card on the counter. "Please," he added after a brief silence.

The spiky-haired woman looked as though she couldn't care less about anything anyone ever said to her. Lazily she punched a few keys and glared daggers at the computer screen – or maybe that was just how her face looked. "Don't got two rooms. Only one open."

"One room?" Booth repeated incredulously. "_What_?"

"Don't got - "

"I heard what you said," muttered Booth. "Well, kiddo, we got more than one person, so if you don't make another room available - "

"Booth," Brennan said in a scolding tone, slapping his hand, which had wandered down towards his gun. "Don't be ridiculous." She passed the girl the credit card. "We'll take the room."

Gaping at her, Booth spread his arms wide, appalled. Sharing a room? That was almost as bad as sleeping the car – it might have been a better idea to drive right past the sketchy motel sign. "What the hell, Bones?" he asked angrily.

"It's only logical," Brennan replied. "I do _not_ want to drive any more with you when you're in such a bad mood." She took the room key and handed him his credit card, which Booth shoved into his pocket as he hurried after her.

"When _I'm_ in such a bad mood?! You are _unbelievable_."

"And you're grumpy, which is why you need to sleep. Therefore, we have a hotel room."

"One," muttered Booth. Did she actually think he'd be able to sleep? _Depends on if there are two beds or not,_ he thought at once.

The key clicked and the chipped-paint door swung open with a creak to reveal their Vegas home. Small, as clean as a motel room could be, and smelling distinctly like stale tobacco, Booth's first thought was that it could be worse.

But then he looked again, and his brain nearly froze.

One bed.

Booth groaned and subconsciously doused himself with cold water. Repeatedly.

* * *

It was cold, it was hard, and it was not conducive to rest at all. Being in the car might have been preferable to being on the floor. As noble and self-sacrificing as he was, Booth would not allow Brennan to sleep anywhere but the bed, and he didn't want to let any other possibilities cross his mind. Sure, down here he had space and chair cushions, but every time he moved he was jamming some part of his body uncomfortably into the floor. And since he couldn't sleep, he was moving a lot.

Flipping over, he tried to shift his arms to take the weight off his shoulders. Immediately his elbows dug into the carpet. He growled and flipped back onto his back.

"Booth, stop being an idiot."

"Hey, it's a little hard to get comfortable down here," he said, a clear edge in his voice.

"I know."

Booth heard the shifting of blankets and sheets, and then through the darkness, he could see Brennan sitting up on the other side of the bed. Booth sat up too, staring in confusion. It was bad enough that he was keeping her awake, he wasn't going to let her take the floor.

"Come up here."

Booth blinked. "What?!"

"Come up here," repeated Brennan, and her shadowy figure patted the empty spot on the bed. "Look, I'm not dealing with you tomorrow if you get no sleep. So sleep up here. There's plenty of room."

"Yeah, but – but Bones - " spluttered Booth.

"Booth, it's logical. We're both responsible adults, we're not going to - "

"Yeah, yeah, that's enough," Booth said hurriedly, scrambling to his feet. She did _not _need to put any ideas in his head that weren't already present in vivid detail.

"Well?"

"I'm coming," Booth muttered. He snatched up his pillow from the floor and tossed it onto the bed. _This is a really bad idea. Bad, bad, bad._

He slid under the blanket, and beside him, Brennan settled back down on her own side. Tense, Booth waited with his eyes wide open, wondering if he would have slept better on the floor. Two inches of sheets separated him from her. In her nightgown. In a bed. _Bad,_ he growled at himself.

Flipping over – away from her – he pinched himself hard and forced his eyes shut. This was going to be a long night.


	18. Crossing the Line

Drabble based off Booth's forever-famous line that professionals can't cross. Psh. Thank you all reviewers, favoriters, alerters, and even you guys who are just reading, it means a lot.

**Words: **100  
**Spoilers:** References to _Man in the Cell_  
**Time:** Future  
**Genre: **Angst

* * *

Am I ready? Are we ready?

Yes. No. Dammit, I don't know.

My eyes meet hers. For once, I can't read a thing. Is she doing the same thing I am? Trying desperately to see what I'm thinking? Arguing with herself? I can't take my eyes off of her. Part of me screams – I know I can't live without her. Life's short, isn't it?

Suddenly a memory flashes into my mind. Cam, lying on a hospital bed, barely breathing. Dying.

I close my eyes tightly and force myself to breathe.

What if it'd been her lying on that hospital bed?


	19. Musical'd

Another random drabble. This one's all dialogue; I'm testing that style and seeing if it works out. Tell me what you think. Thank you so much amazing reviewers!

**Words:** 100  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Time:** Future  
**Genre:** Humor

* * *

"So? Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise."

"Come on, Bones. It's our one-year dating anniversary. Tell me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I let you drive."

"We're going to see a musical."

"A musical?!"

"I asked Cam where you might like to go - "

"You asked Cam?! Your boss and my ex-girlfriend?"

"Well, Angela's in the middle of nowhere with Hodgins - "

"Figures. So you just decided to ask - "

"It was a little odd, though."

"What was odd?"

"Her expression."

"What about it?"

"Well, she looked kind of like she was about to burst out laughing."


	20. Sweet Seduction

Inspired by Sweets' quote about pie being a form of seduction. -wink- These might come slower from now on, school has started, but who knows - the new season may bring a wave of inspiration! Please keep reviewing, it means so much!

**Words:** 200  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Time:** After_ Pain in the Heart_/Future  
**Genre:** Romance/Humor

* * *

Brennan watches Booth skeptically as he shovels down the food in front of him like a starved lion. "How much more of that can you handle?" she asks incredulously.

Smirking, Booth looks up from his plate of warm, fresh-baked cherry pie. His second slice for the night. "Bottomless pit," he says, waving his fork at his stomach.

"I can believe it." Brennan smiles, pauses, shifts a little in her seat.

"Can I have some?"

Booth whips his head up, stunned. Bones? Asking for pie?

"Really?"

Nodding, she frowns confusedly. "What?"

"Nothing," grins Booth. He flips the fork in his fingers and – rather impressively – scoops up the perfect bite of pie. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Brennan leans forward, snatching the fork from his hand. "I'm just tasting it."

Smiling like an idiot, Booth waits eagerly – she was chewing, she was swallowing - "Well? What do you think?"

_Come on, no one can really _not_ like pie._

She meets his excited gaze evenly, the corner of her lips curling up into a cautious smile. "It's good."

Booth leans back and lets his grin stretch from ear to ear. He almost stands up and punches the air in utter triumph.

_Yes._


	21. Why Love?

Season 4 love. So far. Hooray to the _Perfect Pieces in the Purple Pond_, loved that ep. This is another random backstory-less drabble shot thing, emotional and vague. Hope you enjoy.

**Words:** 738  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Time:** Near future? Whenever.  
**Genre:** Angst

* * *

_Why do people do things like that?_

Her voice is laced with anger and confusion; she doesn't understand. She's disgusted.

_It's complicated. It's not a matter of what they want to do, it's what they have to do._

_What? Kill six innocents to save just one person? Booth, it's completely illogical. Six lives shouldn't be ruined for one._

He throws his napkin down over his plate, meeting her eyes again at last. They are filled with clarity; nothing conflicts inside her mind. She believes what she says.

_It's about love, Bones. People do crazy things for the ones they love. Even if they don't want to, they do it. _

She scoffs and frowns. She still understands nothing.

_But why? Their loved ones wouldn't want six other people to die for them, would they? _

_Look, think about your father. What would you do if he were captured?_

_My father was a largely absent figure in my life. It's not comparable._

_You're avoiding the question, you know. _

_Well, what about you? Would you trade six innocent lives for someone you care about? Can one person ever mean that much?_

He stands up abruptly and slams a few dollars onto the table, glaring down at the money as if his cold fury could make some kind of difference.

_Yeah, they can._

Without another word, he leaves. She stares after him, a glimmer of understanding just beginning to spark in her eyes. Her face changes, but she's alone, and no one is there to see it. She doesn't know that he's right outside, leaning against the wall and breathing deeply.

He's trying not to think, not to feel, not to imagine.

He can't.

* * *

Later, she steps outside and walks over to him. Something's changed, he can tell; she's holding herself differently. Her eyes are full of the painful comprehension. She looks lost. Just as any person would be. He's seen expressions like hers before, but this is different.

It hurts him more when it's her. That's how the world works.

Looking up, he doesn't realize that they're both fixed upon each other until she blinks and looks away. He doesn't know what she must be seeing. But he knows what she needs to see.

_I'm sorry. You're right. It's… not that simple, is it?_

_Yeah, Bones. It's not simple at all._

She doesn't move. Crossing his arms, he looks away and waits.

Her hand brushes across his arm, and her head leans against his shoulder. Out of habit, he gently wraps his arms around her, and she doesn't protest.

_What got you to change your mind?_

Confused, she frowns.

_You did._

_No, I mean… what did you think of that made you understand?_

There's a pause. She pulls away, back into her world of safety.

She can't stay there.

He reaches out and tilts her chin up so she's looking at him again. She glares at him; her gaze flicks to the busy street.

_Look at me._

She does. Eyes unreadable, she doesn't say a word until he moves his hand and steps back. Far enough so that she has space, but not far enough for her to shut him out.

_I wondered what I would do if someone was holding you._

_You already know that you'd punch a bounty hunter._

She smiles weakly. He does, too. That's the woman he knows.

_Bones, it's okay not to know. That's why this is so hard. Because you can't know unless it happens. Unless everything goes wrong and you're forced to make a choice. You don't have to know what that choice is._

Walking to her side, he places his hand on her back and leads her towards the car. She's grown accustomed to accepting his support by now, and they walk quietly towards the place where he'd parked.

_It's always a choice. We'll never know what decision is right or wrong. And we'll never be able to stop people from being forced to make a decision between one and the other._

_But we can try to stop the choice from being there in the first place._

_It's our job._

_It's what we do, right?_

_Together._


	22. God, no

Continuing to love season 4, though this doesn't have anything to do with it, lol. Tell me if you can figure this one out - who, when, etc. Three cheers for Bones :)

**Words:** 219  
**Spoilers:** None, not directly  
**Time:** Try and figure it out  
**Genre:** Angst

* * *

No. God, no – anything but this. It can't be him.

I leave the room that the two of them just entered, and I walk to a deserted, whitewashed corner where I can't be seen. My head falls into my hands, but I feel no tears on my face. A book falls from my hand and hits the floor loudly, landing at my feet. I close my eyes and sink to the ground. Bright hospital lights filter through my fingers and eyelids, and trying to stop it all is pointless.

No. No – it doesn't make sense. This can't happen; this _shouldn't _happen. Maybe I am having another nightmare, another horrible explosion of suppressed fears.

But I'm not, am I?

I'm not sure I want it to make sense. It would only make it hurt more, if I knew why.

I move my hands and open my eyes, blinking until I can see through the glaring, fake lights. There aren't any windows here for the less painful sun. My face is still dry, and I'm grateful for that. I know they'll just come later anyway, but it'll be easier – better – when I'm alone.

I rise to my feet and breathe, trying as hard as I can to hold myself together until it all sinks in, irreversible and unchangeable.

No, no, no.


	23. Trapped

Remember chapter 12? I finally wrote a bit of a backstory, though this is mostly unedited. I thought I'd post anyway. Enjoy.

**Words:** 1890  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Time:** Prequel to my Chapter 12  
**Genre:** Drama

* * *

Ropes chafed painfully against his bound wrists, and Booth grimaced, trying yet again to pull himself free. It was hopeless. Metal dug into his back, and behind him, he could hear his partner breathing hard. She was just as trapped as he was.

"Bones?" he whispered, even though there was no one else in the room. He could feel her straighten; they were bound to the same rough metal pole.

"What?"

"You can't get yourself free either, can you?"

"No. The ropes are too thick. I'd need a knife."

"A knife, huh?" breathed Booth, closing his eyes and titling his head wearily towards the ceiling. "Sorry. Don't carry a knife, and they took my gun anyway."

"I have a pocketknife."

"_What?_ Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"Because they took it. It was in the inside pocket of my jacket."

"That's helpful, then," muttered Booth. Brennan kicked him. So at least they were close enough to reach each other; that was something. An idea formed in Booth's mind. The pole they were tied to was fairly narrow – he could tell by the way it pressed painfully against his back. Bending his knees, he slid down slightly, trying to force the rope higher up his wrists. The higher he could get the rope, the more movement of his hands he would have, if he couldn't get it around his hands completely. He winced as the raw skin on his wrists burned even more with the movement.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying – to move the rope a little," replied Booth, jerking his hands. The rope slid up his wrists just the smallest fraction of an inch. "_Damn_."

Somehow Brennan knew what he was trying to do. "Use gravity," she said, copying his movement. But it worked better for her. "Let your body weight fall, and the rope will go up. Gravity is stronger than the force we could exert against the rope in the opposite direction at the moment."

"Right," Booth said. He did as he was told – the rope slid up another fraction. But it was something. He reached his fingers out behind him and brushed against Brennan's hands, her skin smooth and cool. She jumped a little at his touch.

"God, Booth, that surprised me."

"What did you think I was trying to do?" Booth said irritably. "Slide your ropes back down. I might be able to untie them."

Brennan did something that Booth couldn't see, but he could hear her movement. Scratchy ropes fell onto his hands. Turning them until he found what felt like a knot, he tried to pull it apart with his fingers, his heart pounding. It was lucky that he and Brennan were so close together. He could feel the heat radiating from her body behind him because the room was so cold. He could hear her heavy breathing, and in front of him, his own breath puffed out in a small white cloud. Booth's heart leapt when the knot started to come loose. This was risky. They had no way of knowing where their captors were, where _they _were, what their captors could do –

"There!"

Brennan's hands immediately slid away from him, and Booth saw her appear in the corner of his vision. She knelt beside him and reached for the ropes around his wrists, her hair falling forward to cover her face.

"Hurry, hurry," muttered Booth.

But just then, there was a huge crash behind them, and loud voices shouted raucously through the room. Brennan's hands froze, and her eyes flicked up to meet Booth's. Before either of them could move – before either of them could speak – a man growled and they could hear him running forward.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, bitch!?"

A fat, tattooed hand reached for Brennan's shoulder, and she leapt up, whirling around to punch the man hard in the nose. But even as the man cringed, cursing, another one was behind him, grabbing Brennan's arm and twisting it behind her back. Booth watched helplessly as she kicked and struggled, but she was outnumbered; another thickset man bound her wrists again and this time added ropes to her ankles.

"Stop!" Booth shouted, as if it could make a difference. "You're all going to be arrested for capturing and holding a federal agent, battery charges - "

A gun was suddenly at Booth's forehead. _His _gun. How the hell had he managed to get them into this? Booth could hear Brennan trying to speak, but they had gagged her; all that came out was incoherent sounds.

"What're you gonna do about it, huh?" the thug near Booth hissed, pushing the gun against Booth's head. Booth forced himself to breathe, to _think._

"Maybe we can get 'im to tell us what we wanna know," one of the other men said, holding his nose where Brennan had punched it. Blood was all over his dark fingers and face.

"Good luck with that," muttered Booth. The gun slammed into the side of his head. He felt blood trickle down his face.

"Shut up," the first man growled. "We'll get what we want from you FBI assholes. No matter what shit you pull."

Throughout everything, Brennan was silent, her eyes alert as she scanned their surroundings. Booth knew she was calculating; she was trying to find the most effective way out. Talking wasn't it. So he had to do something else – something to help her –

But then the man's hand lashed out again. Only this time, it wasn't directed at Booth – his blow landed on Brennan, knocking her head sharply backwards. Something cold clamped around Booth's heart, then a split second later, exploded – exploded into an icy rage that flooded through his body. _No_. _Not her. It'll be my fucking fault if they hurt her._ "Get your hands off of her," Booth spat, forgetting that Brennan would hate an attempt to protect her.

"Make me," the man hissed. He hit Brennan again, and this time she made an involuntary noise and winced at the blow. The man's hits landed on her head, sides, stomach, feet.

Booth's heart pounded. He didn't know how much of this he could take; he didn't know the point at which he'd break and give them what they wanted, and that terrified him more than almost anything. Brennan was still, taking each blow as it came; Booth wondered how much it must cost her not to fight back. Was that her plan? His mind started to clear in the hopes that she had some idea of how to escape – but then he heard the click and hiss of something sharp and metal. _He had a knife._

"_No_," Booth growled. "Drop it, now."

"What're you gonna do? Shoot me?"

"Drop the knife! "

"Booth, be quiet!"

He stopped talking at once. He could hear the intensity in her voice and see it her eyes; she was glaring at him and her eyes were like ice. Booth's heart pounded somewhere in the region of his throat. The metal was close to her face, and still, Brennan wasn't resisting. _What was going on?_ She had to know what she was doing – she always did – but _still_. The man had a knife to her throat, sliding it up to press the tip lightly against her cheek. A single drop of blood dripped onto the floor. Brennan didn't move an inch.

_Do something! _Booth's mind screamed. _She's bleeding. She's bleeding. _The man only laughed, low and menacing. He flicked his wrist sharply, making the blade slash across Brennan's face. Booth's entire body went cold. _No._

But just as the knife cut across her cheek, Brennan lashed out right when her captor expected her to weaken. She caught his shin with her foot, and he cringed, loosening his grip. She twisted her arms out of the other man's slimy hands and punched him hard in the face, just like she'd done to the other criminal. He, too, stumbled back, clutching his face. Now she stood ready against all three of them. They were wary now. The one near Booth growled and shoved the gun against Booth's temple again, spitting his words at Brennan. "Move another inch, and your boyfriend gets it." Booth heard a click as the weapon was readied.

Brennan froze. Her eyes darted around the room. Booth wished he could tell what she was thinking; wished, like he always did, that he could read her impenetrable expression. He didn't care about _his_ life. Only her. They'd already tortured her; where would they stop? It was three against one. But only one of the men had a gun.

He saw her make a decision in a split second. She rushed forward and knocked the gun out of the kidnapper's hand with her foot, then bashed him so hard on the head that he dropped to the floor, unconscious. The gun went clattering across the floor. Before Brennan could grab it, the other two guys were on her, including the one with the knife. She whipped around, punching one, then the other – giving them both even more injuries than they already had. As they were trying to recover, she dropped to her knees and quickly – so quickly that the two men barely realized what she was doing – slipped her fingers through the knot in Booth's bonds and pulled them apart.

Their eyes met for one frozen moment. Then Booth dove for the fallen gun, and Brennan yanked up one of the men she'd dropped with her punches. Booth pulled up the other. He kept his gun trained on all three men in turn, even pointing it at the unconscious guy on the floor every now and then.

"_Now_ you're under arrest," Booth spat, tightening his grip on the man's arms. "You're a lucky son of a bitch that I don't just kill you on the spot - "

"Booth," said Brennan warningly. "Booth!"

"I got it, I got it," muttered Booth. He pushed the man forward roughly, beyond caring. He couldn't look at Brennan's face. Blood was running down her cheek. "Let's go. Get out of here."

"What about him?"

"Find my handcuffs."

It didn't take long for them to cuff one of the men, drag the unconscious one to his feet, and haul all of them out of whatever kind of building or hideout they were in. They were lucky, Booth guessed, that the men didn't try too hard to resist, and that backup and medical aid came fast. He was lucky that their charges were taken off their hands as soon as the other agents arrived. If they had been in his control much longer, he didn't know if he would have had the willpower to let them stay alive. His eyes wandered to Brennan. He could see the bruises and cuts all over her, and yet still, she didn't look tired. She didn't like the EMTs swarming around her.

Booth rubbed his face wearily in his hands. It would be a long few weeks while they recovered.


	24. Deep Matters

It's been a while! I miss new eps but have been watching reruns... hopefully I'll have time to write more over the summer. I miss reviews, though! If anyone's still reading I'd love to hear any thoughts. Anyway, here's a short piece concerning Booth, Hodgins, and marriage to a certain forensic anthropologist that we all know and love. Enjoy!

**Words:** 804**  
Spoilers:** None**  
Time:** Future/prequel to my chapter 15**  
Genre:** Humor

* * *

He was leaning back with his feet propped up on the corner of his desk, flipping a pen back and forth between his fingers so fast that it was only a blur. Booth glanced absently from his desktop to his door, a small frown on his face. He didn't notice when Hodgins appeared in the doorway until the man knocked against the open door, smiling uncertainly.

"You asked me to stop by?" Hodgins asked, striding in and dropping himself into one of the chairs. He shifted, as if to lean back comfortably or prop his feet up, but froze at the look on Booth's face. "I already emailed you the info on those particles on the girl's shoes. She was in southern Virginia before her feet were cut off - "

"I know, I know. This isn't about the case." Booth's pen stopped moving, and Hodgins stopped talking. Dropping the pen onto the desktop and starting to tap the side of his chair instead, Booth looked up at Hodgins for the first time since he'd come in.

Hodgins leaned forward, grinning broadly. "Is this about the corruption right here in this very building, then? Did you finally realize what a scheming, bureaucratic _nightmare_ you work for? I can give you the proof, if you need it – _four hundred_ locked, 'confidential' files in the system - "

"No, Hodgins, shut up and listen."

"Why did you ask me to come by if you're not planning to listen to me?"

"I didn't ask you to come by so I could hear your stupid, paranoid ramblings, bug man," Booth said, standing up sharply and pacing behind his chair. "I need your advice on something."

"Seriously? Yeah, sure, anything. Shoot. Not – really shoot, I mean," said Hodgins, eyeing the gun as Booth's waist.

"Funny," said Booth dryly. He stopped, hands on the back of his chair and eyes on the door. "I want to ask her to marry me."

For a second, neither of them spoke a word. Hodgins was staring, open-mouthed, at Booth, his eyes wide and his face slowly donning a very animated expression of incredulity. He even leaned back into the chair, shaking his head as he stared at Booth. "You are in some deep trouble there, man," he said, smiling despite his half-terrified tone. "Really, _really_ deep. Seriously."

"I know," Booth muttered. "That's why I'm resorting to talking to you. I mean, it's been two years now, hasn't it? Bones would get why I wanted this – she has to, right? She'd understand."

"Oh, no she wouldn't," said Hodgins. "You know what she thinks about marriage. She'll think that if you're perfectly happy in a relationship _now_, why change things for something that only limits personal and legal freedoms? To her, anyway. That's what it means to her."

"I know, I know, I _know_ all that already! That's why I brought you here - because I need to know what I can say to convince her," Booth pleaded, sitting back down again. "Come on, Hodgins, you have to know something! It's not like I could've asked Angela - "

"She would have a cow if you said that to her, yeah." Hodgins nodded, looking very serious. He paused for a second, then looked up and stood very suddenly, hands in his pockets. "Well, your girlfriend, your problem, can't help you there. I need to go, got some more bugs to analyze back at the lab - "

"Hey, not so fast!" Booth said loudly, making Hodgins freeze halfway across the room. "I helped you when you wanted to propose to Angela, it's only fair that you help me back!"

"Yeah, and look how many crashes and burns there were with _that_ before it finally worked out."

"That's not important. The point is, you owe me!"

Hodgins sighed, considering. "Fine," he said at last, walking back over to Booth's desk. "What do you want me to do? It's not like I can change her mind. If you love her, she'll know that, and if you time it right and do it right she'll see how important it is to you. And maybe then, she'll do it. For you."

"But I don't want her to do it just for me. I want it to be what _she_ wants, too."

"If she loves you," Hodgins said, putting his hands in his pockets again and smiling, "she will want it – _because_ it matters to you. It'll matter to her."

He turned to leave again, and this time, Booth didn't stop him until he was almost out the door. "Hey, Hodgins," he said, a little less loudly than before.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, man," Booth said, picking up his pen and putting it back in his pocket. "Thanks for coming by."

"No problem," Hodgins said. He grinned again before finally heading out, leaving Booth alone in his office with only his thoughts to keep him company.


	25. Your Eyes

I have to do one of these sometime. A somewhat abstract, yet optimistic post-ep to _End in the Beginning_. More chapters to come soon! Big thank you to all reviewers, I really appreciate it, please keep it up!

**Words:** 529**  
****Spoilers:** _End in the Beginning_**  
Time:** Right after _End in the the Beginning_**  
Genre:** Angst

* * *

Cold, white lights shine upon them, glaring off the blank walls and empty windows of the hospital room. The moment that he looks at her, she can tell that there is something different. She sees no bright warmth in his eyes that she has grown accustomed to, no smile, no worry, no concern for her well-being. But she ignores that sliver of a thought at first, instead speaking to him, listening to the voice that she thought she would never hear again. But he is awake, alive, speaking. He'd had a dream. She tells him what really happened, that the surgery went fine, but that he'd not reacted well to the drugs that the doctors had used.

She doesn't tell him of the paralyzing fear that had lived deep inside her heart for the four days that he was unconscious – what felt like the longest four days of her life. Her hair is limp with four days without washing, her eyes are dark from three nights of little sleep, and her body is tense and sore from spending too many hours in the tiny chair at Booth's bedside. She's sure that he will notice all this. He always does. Perhaps he will smile, tell her that she didn't have to stay, and not realize that there was no way she could have left.

But instead, his eyes remain empty. Alive and aware, but no spark of recognition or familiar warmth lights in them when he looks at her. He speaks again, and Brennan hadn't known before that it was possible for one's heart to stop so suddenly and entirely out of nothing more than fear instead of adrenaline.

_Who are you?_

For all she knows, it may have been hours before either of them spoke again. Hours in which the world had frozen along with her heart and mind, even though she knows that it is impossible for either of those things to actually occur. Time cannot stop moving. But in those few moments, she swears that it does, and she doesn't even question it.

_I'm your partner._

The words are choked out, and she hears them as if they were spoken by someone else. How can she speak if time has frozen?

_Bren?_

_Yes. Brennan, I'm Temperance Brennan, but you – you always call me –_

For some reason, she can't say it. Her life's work, a simple word, and it won't escape her lips. But then he says it for her.

_Bones._

And as quickly as it had stopped, time starts again, flying and spinning along with her reawakening heart and mind tight in its grip. Time cannot go faster – but again, she accepts something that she had never previously thought possible as she sees the recognition and the laughter reappearing in his eyes. He smiles, and despite the discomfort that the chair has given her, she falls back into it and holds his hand. She isn't able to stop the smile that spreads across her face, too. She usually likes to be in control of her actions.

But it doesn't matter anymore. All she sees is him, smiling when she'd wondered so many times if she'd ever feel so warm again.


	26. Sunsets

I finished rewatching every episode of Bones recently. So soon up (hopefully) will be some short drabbles and oneshots that I was inspired to write during the proccess of reliving how amazing this show is. This is one inspired by Angela's quote about sunsets in _Salt in the Wounds_. Enjoy, and please leave a review, you guys mean so much!

**Words:** 261  
**Spoilers:** none  
**Time:** Anytime after_ Salt in the Wounds_**  
Genre:** Romance

* * *

The sun blazed at the horizon, casting hundreds of colors across the darkening sky, a beautiful blur of reds and purples and pinks. Grass tickled and swayed in an easy breeze. Brennan smiled.

"What is it?" asked Booth.

"Nothing," she replied, gazing at the sky. "It's just that Angela told me once that a sunset is more beautiful when you share it with someone that you care about. This – this sunset is very beautiful."

The two of them paused, lying close in the grass outside the Lincoln Memorial. The Reflecting Pond glittered with all the same colors present in the sky. Booth glanced at her, his eyes sparkling. "So you care about me?"

She looked at him too, smiling slightly. "Of course I do."

Booth grinned. He placed one hand over hers and looked from the sky to her, then his gaze was steady for a long time. Leaning forward, he slid his free hand behind her head and kissed her lightly, pulling away as he watched for her reaction. "Do you care about me that much?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer at once. But her eyes were fixed on him, clear and familiar. "Yes," she said at last. "I do."

Booth grinned like an idiot, which made her smile, too. There was no hint of uncertainty in her face. He kissed her again then leaned back, though he often caught himself looking at her face rather than the fading sunset. The lights cast a painted glow onto her skin, and Booth knew that nothing could ever be more beautiful.


	27. Snow Flurries

Random and cute. I have a lot of these short, fluffy drabbles, so I hope you guys like them. Keep up the lovely reviews :)

**Words:** 367**  
****Spoilers:** none**  
Time:** Anytime**  
Genre:** Romance

* * *

Hands clasped around a warm cup of tea, Brennan walks close to Booth on the sidewalk, taking advantage of the warmth given off by his body. Snow falls in little flurries at their feet. Brennan shivers, and Booth glances at her and grins. He slides his arm comfortably around her shoulders, rubbing her arm bracingly.

"Come on, you shouldn't be cold. You bought that overpriced Asian tea to warm you up."

"It is not overpriced. It's a fair representation of the worth of the item, the labor to transport it, and it's rarity and demand."

"Too expensive. And you're still cold, right?"

Brennan nods, unable to suppress a small smile as Booth pulls her in closer, the heat from their shared touch warming them both far more than any tea. On impulse, Booth turns his head towards her and kisses her forehead, so lightly that Brennan isn't completely sure that it happens.

"Did you kiss me?"

Booth doesn't respond at once. He smiles. "Nope."

She frowns at him. "You did, didn't you?"

"Nah. If I did, you'd remember it."

Meeting his cocky smile with an uncertain one of her own, Brennan moves her head a little bit away from his so that she can study his face. His eyes sparkle with good humor, but in them she sees more – that sense of understanding and warmth that she can only ever read in Booth. A different sort of heat runs through her body.

"Can you prove that?"

He stops in his tracks and turns around so that they're facing each other, his arms moving to rest on her hips. They stand close, breathing each other's breath as it appears in little, cold, white puffs before them. The cold bites as the wind picks up, but neither of them notice. Booth's eyes are light and searching.

"But there's no mistletoe," he says easily.

She pauses, considering; her heart beats fast in her chest, and the cars behind them seem to fall suddenly silent.

"I know."

His lips are warm on hers, just like his arms holding her closely at her waist. The tea still clutched In her hands feels suddenly cool in comparison, as cold as the thickening snow.


	28. Coffee in the Morning

This is an extremely unoriginal, cute, and cliche oneshot. Just for fun. Review and enjoy :)

**Words:** 178**  
****Spoilers:** none**  
Time:** Anytime**  
Genre:** Romance

* * *

She was used to waking up in an empty bed. For a moment, she had to think to remember why - this morning - the cool sheets on the other side felt so unusual. She tumbled out of bed, slipped on a bathrobe, and walked to her kitchen. The house was quiet and empty. Standing there, shivering even in the thick robe, Brennan wondered what she was supposed to do. She didn't remember it ever being so chilly in her house.

There was a knock on the door. Automatically, she moved to answer it, forgetting to check and see who it was. Her mind was at an odd blank for anything else to do.

It was Booth, in last night's clothes and with messy, windswept hair. He was holding one of her reusable canvas grocery bags, and he was grinning. "You were out of coffee," he said. "So I bought that shade-grown kind that you like. And a muffin, too."

All of a sudden, Brennan smiled, feeling like warmth had suddenly rushed back into her home.


	29. Two Heroes

This one's a little bit longer! I just love writing these short things. Anyway, this one I see as one of their random and cute diner conversations after or during a case. Inspired by the 'hero's quest,' which most people either already know or hopefully is explained in this little ficlet. Review and enjoy :)

**Words:** 520**  
****Spoilers:** none**  
Time:** Anytime**  
Genre:** General/Friendship

* * *

"Every story is the same, Booth. It's always the hero's quest. It's the way that every story always ends – a hero striving against a villain to complete some goal. All stories are variations of that tale. Even in life, it's often the same way. There's more to it, of course, but that's the basics."

Booth grinned, forgetting about his pasta as he glanced up at her. "You really think it's that simple?"

"Of course." Brennan didn't even look at him, eating her salad while Booth watched her and grinned even more. "Even the books I write follow that template, though very loosely."

"So what about our story?" he asked. "What's our variation of the hero tale, or whatever it is?"

Now she looked at him, smiling uncertainly. "Well, we strive for the truth. We work together against murderers and kidnappers and everything in between. That's our villain."

"We strive for _just_ truth?"

"What else is there for us to find?"

"I'd say something like justice would also be pretty high up there on the list," Booth said. "You find the truth; I find the justice."

"Exactly," Brennan replied, smiling. "Truth and justice. We make a good team."

Leaning back in his chair, Booth grinned and stretched his arms out behind his head. "Now, all this 'hero story' talk, it only leads to one question."

"What?"

"You know." He leaned across the table now, his eyes sparkling. "So if our story is that quest thing – which one of us is the hero? Because, you know, I'd say it's me. I do all the real heroic stuff. Like taking bombs and gunshots and running after crazy murderers."

"Hey," scolded Brennan, but she still couldn't keep herself from smiling. "I have to get all the information together to tell you _who_ to chase down."

"Yeah, but you just stay in the lab."

"I do not! I go out in the field, with suspects, and _sometimes_ a gun - "

"And _always_ with me."

Brennan glared at him. Booth grinned, picked up his fork, and returned to his forgotten pasta. "You know I'm only kidding, right, Bones?"

She gave him a good-natured yet withering glare. "Sure you are."

"There can be two heroes," he said. "In the quest. There has to be two heroes for some stories to work out, right?"

"Right," said Brennan. "It can happen that way, in some variations. So – we're two heroes?"

"Two heroes," agreed Booth. "Isn't it heroine for you, though?"

"I use 'heroes' when speaking about a mixed-gender group."

"Right. And because a 'heroine quest' sounds like something out of a Drug-Dealing For Dummies book."

"A what?"

"It's this type of guide book – but nevermind," said Booth, grinning. Brennan smiled too, picking up her fork again and returning to her lunch. Booth did the same, just like always; the two heroes tired from a hard week's work.


	30. Hands

Another tiny drabble, this one more abstract. Like always, thank you reviewers, please keep it up, I love you, and enjoy!

**Words:** 171**  
****Spoilers:** none**  
Time:** Anytime**  
Genre:** Romance

* * *

The first time their hands touched, she noticed. It wasn't a handshake, for when they had first met, she had been examining remains. What she noticed was the spark that ran through her body, like static electricity transferring from his hand to hers, as he tried to pull her from the lab so she could help interrogate a suspect. She refused, slapping him away and breaking the spark.

The first time his hand fell to rest in the small of her back, she noticed. It felt comfortable, warm; like a well-worn jacket or an old armchair. His hand would stay there, too, like a never-ending lifeline that was always there if she ever needed the support.

The first time his hands touched her bare skin, she noticed. It was no longer a sudden spark or a gentle warmth against her body. She felt a fire racing over her back, arms, face, and every place his hands touched, leaving an invisible but ever-present trail of vibrant heat wherever they went.


	31. Second Interruption

Another drabble. Remember that great moment with Booth in the tub in Pain in the Heart? Well, here's a future replay. Enjoy and review, I love you guys :)

**Words:** 216**  
****Spoilers:** none**  
Time:** Future after _Pain in the Heart_**  
Genre:** Romance

* * *

The water was hot, the beer was cold, everything was just _perfect._ There was no gunshot wound in his chest this time. Just him, his comics, and his earsplitting music.

But then there was a knock on the bathroom door, which was pushed open before he had the time to shout angrily at whoever was barging in. This was his space, his time, and _his bathroom._

It was Bones, wearing nothing more than his old t-shirt, leaning against the doorframe with a sly smile on her face. Without saying a word, she walked over to the edge of the tub, stepped in to the steamy water, and knelt at the far end, practically on top of his feet and knees. Her smile broadened as she leaned forward and pulled the beer hat off of his head. Ordinarily, Booth would have protested. But objections were about the very last thing on his mind right now. He grinned, tossing his comic onto the bathroom floor. The old t-shirt that Bones was wearing ended up down there, too. The loud music still blasted and echoed throughout the room.

Hands resting on her smooth hips, Booth decided that he liked this kind of interruption of his personal time much, much more than he had the last time it had occurred.


End file.
